Not Guilty
by htoria
Summary: <html><head></head>'His eyes are all she can take in. He's not guilty of the crime he's accused of, she feels that right down to her bones, being in the game as long as she has, she can spot those truly culpable from a mile away, and while this man may be many things, a killer he is not.' Completely and utterly AU. OutlawQueen.</html>
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello dearies! Firstly, I know I have the last chapter of Would You Change Your Fate? to upload, and I promise you it will get finished, (hopefully this week), but I've been swamped with work, and then this wormed its way into my brain and absolutely refused to budge. Completely and utterly AU, multi-chapter, OutlawQueen. Truly hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Chapter One.<p>

She probably registers the rain before the ringing.

It comes down in sheets, battering her windows, hammering her rooftop, and she thinks it's odd, that such weather should even be possible in August. But it's been hot, and sticky and humid these past few weeks, the kind of heat that makes her lethargic and cranky, and she reasons in her tired haze that maybe they were due a storm. Something to break up the closeness in the air that never seems to let up in the city during the summer months. The idea of actually leaving her bed to face such a day makes her mentally grimace. Her bed is cozy, and it's only when she buries her face deep into her pillow, tugging the thin bed throw tighter around her shoulders - it's been far too hot for an actual duvet - does she become more aware of the loud, intrusive noise blaring from the cell phone lying on her bedside table that woke her to begin with.

She cracks open one eye, the lid heavy and thick with sleep; it protests to being forced open after so little sleep, and the frown that forms between her brows does so easily. She lifts her head slightly from its home on the pillow before letting her eyes adjust to the green digits that glow from her alarm clock.

4:08am; and then she panics, because, who on earth would be calling at this time if not for an emergency? Thoughts of Henry flash through her mind quickly, and she scrambles ungracefully to detangle her limbs from the throw, swinging her legs from the bed and reaching to switch on the lamp that resides on her bedside table. She yanks the charger from her cell and stares at the screen.

_Number withheld_, it reads, and she swears her heart actually stops as she breathes out a hello when her thumb presses to accept the strange call.

"It's me."

The relief that floods through her is quickly followed by rage; at him, at what he did to her, at his audacity to dare get in touch, but mainly, at his inappropriate timing. Honestly, does he not even register it's still dark out?! The tiniest hint of curiosity meets the anger, and she falls back on the bed with a heavy thud, her feet leaving the thick, plush carpet of her bedroom because her legs are too little without heels to reach. The movement makes the springs in her mattress creak - because when the hell were they last given a good work out? - and goosebumps prickle her skin at the loss of warmth from her throw. Even if the air is warm outside, she's only sporting silk black negligee for sleepwear (god knows why, she's the only one who sees it), and the loss of material covering her skin makes the hairs on her body stand on end ... though maybe that's just because _he_ has called.

"What the hell do you want?" She spits, skipping any niceties she might usually reserve for old acquaintances, feeling nothing but pissed that he has dared to call her just when she is finally, _finally_ getting her life back on track. In all the ramblings of her mind, she fleetingly wonders if it's too early to phone Dr Hopper after she's dealt with the nuisance on the end of her phone, and lifts her head slightly to double check that it actually is four in the morning and not four in the evening. She drops her head back down on the mattress in a rather dramatic fashion; yes, it is the AM, and while she's sure her sickeningly sweet therapist wouldn't hesitate to listen to her vent, she won't call on Archie in the middle of the night. She, unlike the manipulative son-of-a-bitch currently breathing down her ear, isn't in the business of bothering people at ungodly hours of the day.

"Oh, well it's just lovely to hear from you too," he replies sarcastically, notably ignoring her question. She sighs audibly, making it known that his presence on her phone, in her midst of sleep, in her life, is an utter inconvenience.

Her eyes close once more, but the heaviness in her lids from sleep has gone. She brings a hand up to her forehead, pressing a cool palm to the skin and raking her nails through her dark locks. "It's 4AM, Gold. Why are you calling me?"

He chuckles, and the sound makes her blood boil as her eyes shoot open to glare at nothing in particular. "My apologises, I forgot about the time difference."

"Time difference?" That throws her, and she frowns once more. "Where are you?"

"England. I moved back here a few months ago," he tells her, as though they're having a casual catch up, just two old friends bringing each other up to speed on the newest details of their lives. She hates that he still thinks it's okay to call and demand anything from her, hates that when he does so he acts like it's the most natural thing in the world, but mostly, she hates that she's still curious, hates that she hasn't yet yelled down the receiver and hung up at the immediate sound of his voice. The familiar feeling of self-loathing crawls through her body and she mentally winces at its arrival, the _why does he always make me feel so weak?_ Settles in her stomach so heavily she feels physically sick.

She ignores the personal information he's offered on his whereabouts, and asks again, "why are you calling me?" His pause is obvious, and bile rises in her throat. _Nothing_ good can come from a phone call from this man.

"I need your help, Regina."

The silence she offers in response is heavy, loaded, and the rage she initially felt from his phone call magnifies ten fold. She grits her teeth, jaw clenched, and when she speaks again, her tone is low and, dare she think it, threatening. "I don't do that anymore."

He snorts out a sarcastic laugh on the other end of the receiver, the slight time delay in their call from opposite ends of the planet gives her time to take a deep breath and reign in her hot temper - because no matter how much she would _love_ to threaten this man, she wouldn't ever dare, not even with three thousand miles between them. "You will always do this, dearie. No running away from it now."

"I'm not running away from anything; I've changed. People can change," she says, a tiny hint of whining in her voice, and she thinks as she says it she may be trying to convince herself more than Gold. She can't deny it, the fact he's personally called her in the middle of the night has peaked her interest - because he definitely does know it's the middle of the night for her, she won't buy this 'forgetting the time difference' bull shit for a second, this man never forgets anything. She swallows thickly, waiting for his response, and braces herself for his inevitable coercion.

"You, my dear, will never change. I've got a big case over here, one that I will only win if you're on my legal team."

She sneaks in a snarky comment. "Such kind words; I don't think I've ever heard you pay me a compliment before."

"Please, it was I who taught you ... complimenting you is really only stroking my own ego, now, isn't it? I'm not unintelligent. I'm fully aware the influence someone of your ... character ... can have over a judge. I need that."

She can't help the smirk that snakes across her face. She knows he's right, her personality is the reason she's never lost a case. Her boldness, her audacity, her sharp tongue and fearless approach have always been winners in the court room, even she can't deny that. Her reputation is one to proceed her; people don't call her the Queen of a courtroom for nothing. _Didn't_, she reminds herself. They _didn't_ call her that. _Past tense, Regina, you don't do that anymore. _"Yeah, well, I can't help you. Can't you ask Lennie to do it?" She asks, already knowing the answer, but she'll try it anyway. Zelena - aka Lennie - was in her class at Harvard. They were both mentored by Gold in criminal law, and even though Regina finished top of the class, her red haired frenemy - and she uses frenemy, because still to this day they drive each other crazy with all the competitiveness - was close second.

She knows for a fact Zelena is still in touch with Gold; the woman had only last month asked Regina if she had heard the news of their old mentor - perhaps she meant the move to England - after bumping into her outside the public library on Boylston Street. Regina had forced a smile as she was pulled into a fake, awkward embrace. Lennie hadn't wasted time in telling her the number of cases she'd won since Gold had liquidated his company, the company they both used to work for - only the most complex ones, of course - and Regina had to actually dig her nails into her palms to stop from slapping the smug smile straight off her face. _I here you're out of the game_, she had said, obviously fishing for details, _read all about your last case in the paper, what awful business! _It was okay, Regina had assured, not rising to the bait, she was doing just fine teaching. Zelena had replied with some back handed compliment, something about how she couldn't possibly imagine giving up her workload in order to teach, and how she would never get the buzz she gets from a courtroom out of a classroom.

Regina, biting her tongue, had secretly agreed. A classroom was most definitely dull in comparison, but she would certainly never have told Zelena that, and instead had given her best smile with a nonchalant laugh. She had lied, and told Lennie she was really happy, then asked how were her wedding plans to Walsh coming along? And that had shut her up, because Regina had heard through the grapevine that Walsh had in fact left Lennie six weeks prior. The air turned icy, and the redhead had hurried off without much of a goodbye, causing an inappropriate smirk to reach Regina's eyes, and when she continued down the sidewalk, there had been a new spring in her step.

"I already have asked Miss West." Gold says, voice on the brink of snapping. "She, unlike you, jumped at the chance. She caught a flight out to Heathrow yesterday."

Ugh, what a suck up. She lets out a heavy sigh, and snaps back, "well you don't need me then, do you?!"

"I'm calling the entire team back."

His words make her protests pause. The entire team? Suddenly she feels sick at the thought; god knows what this case involves if Gold has actually resorted to hiring his old legal team back. She pushes her curiosity to the back of her mind, and continues her argument. She has classes to prep for, she tells him, and surely he can remember the work load that comes with teaching a bunch of first year law students?

"Forget them," he orders, followed quickly by a promise to call in a favour the Dean owes him; he'll make sure her job stays safe, if it really is all that precious to her.

She can feel herself caving, and begins digging around her mind for any possible excuse to get him off the phone and out of her life before she agrees to something she'll regret. But the desire to know why he's called and out right asked for her help, as opposed to his usual cunning manipulation to get what he wants, has her biting her bottom lip with the anticipation of finding out what's got him so worked up. This is an absolute first; him actually coming to her with an honest to god problem and asking, (well, demanding, really), she help him.

"Henry starts fifth grade in two weeks," she says, knowing she sounds defeated, that it's the very last thing she can think of to say that will get her out of this. Only it won't get her out of this at all, because Gold is anything but a family man, and he would never understand the want she has for seeing her nephew off on his first day of a new year of school. She hasn't ever missed one, and her heart tugs slightly at the memory of him, burying his face into her legs on his first ever day of kindergarden as she gripped his hand tightly and walked him up the corridor to the classroom. Her nephew had been such an incredibly nervous boy when he was little, and even though he no longer lives with her, her heart still seems to go into 'mother-mode' whenever anything new happens for him. Deep down she knows she has absolutely nothing to worry about, can hear his voice in her head; _I'm ten, aunt Regina. I can walk to the bus by myself._ He's becoming as brazen as his mother with every passing day, so she knows Henry will start the new school year completely unfazed now, but the worry still niggles in her tummy, and when he finds out why she wouldn't be there, he'll be so angry. Scratch that, her entire family will be angry.

Her face scrunches into a grimace as she thinks of telling Emma and Mary Margaret that Gold needs her for a case again - her step-sisters have never been okay with what she does for a living - and ever since the whole Glass_ incident_, they've been utterly unforgiving of Mr Gold. Her mother is the only person she can think of that will actually berate her for *not* doing as her old professor demands. Hell, Cora would practically drag her to the airport by her hair if she found out there was even a possibility Regina could 'reclaim her reputation'.

Gold must sense her hesitation, and sighs impatiently into the phone. "Let me at least send you the case files?" He asks, _almost _making her believe he is giving her the option to turn him down.

Regina feels her teeth clench together, grinding out of frustration, and she huffs dramatically down the receiver. The words leave her mouth before she has chance to stop them. "_Fine. _But I'm only looking over them." Lies, that is absolutely not the only thing she'll end up doing, and Gold knows it. She can sense his smugness all the way from Boston, and her eyes close in defeat as a horrible realisation settles on her chest; she will most definitely not be there for Henry's first day of fifth grade.

* * *

><p><em>AN2: So this first chapter just teases the set up. Regina is a criminal defence attorney who used to work for Gold. Emma and Mary-Margaret are her step sisters, (I've chosen to have those two sisters because I couldn't plausibly have them any other way in an AU, and I like the dynamic they have being related), and Cora is married to Leopold, who is Regina's step father. For any of you regal believers, don't fear, in this AU Regina has raised Henry from birth, and though he lives full time with Emma now, they're still as thick as thieves. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

"You might be going _where_?" Mary Margaret asks her later that day, raising her eyebrows in surprise as she pours hot tea into a mug, passes it across the counter to Regina and absentmindedly rubs the little baby bump hidden beneath her shirt. Regina sits, propped up at the island in her sister's kitchen, fighting the dull ache growing at the base of her skull; one that would not have reared its ugly head had she gotten a good night's sleep, and maybe avoided the drive to visit The Nolan's farm. Not that she will complain about being back here; she actually adores leaving the hustle and bustle of the city and spending the day breathing in the fresh country air.

It hasn't changed much over the years. The house still stands proud in the center of acres of glorious, green fields, surrounded by a small woodland a few miles from the highway. The once-white porch that surrounds it looks a little worn nowadays, and the light that illuminates the front door flickers, buzzing with the sound of electric currents whenever it's turned on. The hay barn still neighbors the homestead, its deep red paint chipping away from the wood with age and wear; rust collects on the handles and hinges of the tall doors that open into a mammoth space filled with rolls upon rolls of straw. The road that leads to the farm is gravelled, and crunches under the wheels of her car as it squeezes between the wooden posts that line the grasses edge. Her apple tree still stands alone in the field that fronts the house, it thrives in the August weather, growing fruit so sweet her mouth waters just at the thought of a taste. The stables sit to the back of the property, and are currently the home to two beautiful mares and a stallion that she can't help but check in on whenever she comes here.

The Nolan's farm feels more like home to Regina then any place she's ever actually lived in; coming here makes her mind flood with memories of Daniel, of summers spent basking in the heat, helping him tend to the farm and entertaining her kid sisters when school was out.

She could remember like it was yesterday, the afternoon Mary Margaret and Ruby had ran home from junior high and babbled on and on about the 'really cute boy' that had just transferred from Maine, his mother owned a farmhouse, and would Regina please, please drive them to the party he was having for the entire year. She had rolled her eyes, winced at the excessive giggling from the over-excited thirteen year olds and done her sisterly duties (if only to avoid spending the evening with her step-father, because her mother had been away on some spa retreat, and being alone with Lee Blanchard was something she would dodge like the plague even now). She had ushered the girls into her beat up yellow bug and dragged Emma along for good measure; she wasn't in Mary Margaret and Ruby's year, but her littlest sister was kind of a loner, and Regina had really thought making a friend or two couldn't hurt.

She had been eighteen years old, on the brink of the longest summer of her life before starting college, when fate had come knocking. That evening, as the setting of the sun turned the sky orange and pink, surrounded by pre-teens hopped up on sugar and fresh air, Mary Margaret had introduced Regina to David (the 'really cute boy' she liked so much), then to his mother (Ruth was a very sweet lady, inherited the farm from her late husband's brother, but, she informed Regina, couldn't manage the property like it needed). Cue, Daniel. Ruth Nolan's stable boy was twenty years old, and swept Regina off her feet almost the second they laid eyes on each other. They had fallen in love hard and fast, during one of the hottest summers on record, had stayed together during her first year at UMass, had mapped out their lives down to the very last detail; and then in the time it took to pull the trigger of a gun, he had been ripped away from her.

For a long while after his death, she avoided the farm like the plague, each visit making the hole in her chest feel deeper and wider, more hollow, if possible. Time, however, proved to be the balm her heart needed, and as the years between now and then grew, her pain numbed. Now whenever she thinks of him, of their time together, it fills her every being with warmth. She_ likes_ to think of him; so when Mary Margaret called and asked her to come over, reminded her that they hadn't done more then speak on the phone in weeks, she hadn't hesitated getting in the car - despite the tiredness stinging her eyes from Gold's annoying interruption of her sleep.

This is how she finds herself, nursing a steaming mug of tea and coyly avoiding her little step-sisters eyes after casually dropping into conversation that she thinks she's probably going to London for a while. Gold still has yet to send her the files for this case, though signal at the farm has always been awful, so she knows without a shadow of a doubt the will be a curt email with documents attached waiting for her when she finally gets home later. She clears her throat and shrugs nonchalantly, and answers her sisters question. "London."

"Why on earth do you need to go there?" Mary asks, wearing an expression like Regina has two heads. She bites the inside of her cheek, and butterflies fill her tummy as she threads the serviette Mary Margaret had placed by her mug through her fingers. The reaction she's about to receive won't be pretty, and she knows it, so she avoids her sisters eyes, pretending instead to find the chip in the top of her mug far more interesting to look at.

"Well ... Gold called me this morning."

Her sisters shoulders drop. "Oh Regina, tell me you didn't?"

Her defense mode kicks in and snaps back, "he just wants me to help out on one case, that's all. It's only for a little while. He's called all of his old team back!" She says, voice verging on whining.

"Don't you have any self respect?! You were inconsolable after the last time you worked with him!"

She glares at her sibling from across the counter. "You know the real reason I was inconsolable, Mary Margaret. It had nothing to do with Gold's work." The disappointment is almost radiating off Mary Margaret, and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth in frustration.

"Maybe not directly, but none of that mess would have happened if it hadn't been for that ... _man,_" her sister all but spits - uses venom in her tone rather than her words, because despite the fact that Mary Margaret is pushing thirty, despite the fact that they've been family for eighteen years, Regina doesn't think she's_ ever_ heard the girl use a curse word.

She sighs heavily, hoping her rapidly rising temper won't cause an argument like it usually does - she's never been able to fully stomach her sisters inability to see things in shades of grey; always black and white, always right or wrong, that is Mary Margaret through and through. Emma is the sister Regina can count on not to criticise the morally questionable goings on in her life ... unfortunately for her, though, Emma is not the sister that's currently sitting in front of her with judge-y eyes. "I know you're concerned about me, but I wouldn't be agreeing to this if I didn't think I could handle working for him again. Dr Hopper thinks it will do me some good ... get me some closure on everything."

That does it. Mary Margret's shoulders loosen, visibly, and her eyes lose a little of the alarm that had settled in them moments before. Regina had called Archie that morning, when the clock struck 9AM and it was a fully acceptable hour to get in touch, had rambled on for a good fifteen minutes before the poor man even got a word in edge ways. _Who does he think he is? Smug son-of-a-bitch_, and, _how dare he call me and ask for my help, after everything he put me through?! _And, _well he can go to hell for all I care, I'm not helping on this case_. Archie, the sweet, patient man that he is, had simply hummed at appropriate points in her venting, held back his advice while she let out the steam she'd been sitting on since the second Gold had phoned.

When the simmering ire had died down - not completely gone, she doubts it will ever completely leave her - he had simply asked her to tell him how she *really* felt about his phone call. Regina had gnawed at her bottom lip for a second before sighing audibly, and admitting to her therapist that actually, as angry as she was, the idea of getting stuck into an honest to god case, leaving behind all the students she finds the mind-numbingly stupid, was like music to her ears. He had laughed, actually laughed, and told her he thought it was a good idea, that perhaps working with Mr Gold again may offer her the closure she's sought since the whole 'Glass' debacle, that maybe, just maybe, she would finally be able to let go of her guilt.

She disagrees, thinks the guilt will live with her, in her bones and soul for the rest of her days and then some, but she's glad he didn't say no, so had just agreed with his theory.

"You spoke to Archie about it already?" Mary Margaret asks, a somewhat surprised tone to her voice before she gulps down the rest of her tea, clearly needing something to settle the nerves that will have stirred in her stomach. Honestly, her step-sister could be so ... _over sensitive_ sometimes.

"I called him the second his office opened," she says, surprising herself with the softness to her voice, and reaching forward to take her step-sisters hands in her own. "I wouldn't being going if I didn't think I could handle it, I promise." That much, she is completely sincere about. She watches as Mary Margaret has an internal battle with herself, fighting her head and her heart, fighting whether to carry on voicing her disapproval or whether to just let sleeping dogs lie. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity to Regina, her sister lets out a heavy sigh.

"Fine. Go, if it really means that much to you." Regina feels a smile spring to her face; if she was the hugging type, she'd have pounced into Mary's arms and knocked her back with a force. But she isn't, and there's the slightly protruding bump lying under her sisters shirt that houses a fetus to think about, so she just squeezes their hands tighter together, instead. "But Regina, if you get so much as a whiff of something fishy, I want you to come straight home."

She nods her head, promises she will, but doesn't offer up the information that actually, she's pretty sure there is something very fishy happening already. She's been wracking her brains all morning as to what on earth would have Gold calling each of his old legal team and _asking them for help_. In all the years she's known him, she doesn't think he has ever asked anyone for anything. He's always the one people go to for a favour, favours he is all but willing to oblige by ... for a price. Always for a price. It's the reason his law firm got the reputation it did. She had asked once, when she was twenty-one and naive, still full of awe for the job, why he had such a passion for defending those clearly guilty of a crime, his answer had been curt and to the point. Information was power, and power was everything. He'd gone on to say defending criminals had a way of building relationships with a network of people who can help in some very sticky situations. Over the years, Regina had learned that Gold had his fingers dipped in almost every major criminal organisation there is in Boston, and at first she'd just ignored it, just did her job, enjoyed the thrill of triumph in court and began building a number of impressive case wins. Her reputation grew with every successful defense case, and after a while it dawned on Regina that actually, there were now a number of not-so-moral people throughout the city that owed her a favour or two as well.

She wasn't sure when it happened, when she became so hungry for success she no longer cared who she defended. The worse the crime, the trickier the case, the more glory she would receive from her peers when she won. Everyone has the right to a defense, no matter what they are accused of; it was what she told herself every night when her head hit the pillow, ignored the cries of outrage that swirled around the back of her mind from victims of the people she'd defended. Bitch, monster, _evil_ ... how could she justify helping put those people back on the streets? How did she sleep at night? Easy. She knocked back a few glasses of MacCutcheon and slept like a baby. It wasn't the wisest thing to do, especially not when Henry lived with her, but it was the only thing that worked when it came to keeping her conscience at bay during the hours of twilight.

It had now been thirteen long months since her last case - the memory of which still made her skin crawl - but she was no longer ashamed to say she missed the courtroom desperately. Teaching, as rewarding as it should be, just didn't give her the buzz she craved. The only reason she still continued to stick it out was because her family were so weary of her returning to her old job. She knew she'd been a wreck after defending Sidney Glass, knew she had nearly been swallowed whole by a darkness that would have consumed her, but even so, Regina had managed, with the help of Henry, Emma, Mary Margaret and David, to crawl back from the grief and yet again, get her life back on track. When she had agreed to lecture at Harvard around ten months ago, Henry had been so proud of her, had told her teaching the lawyers of the future was 'way cooler' than defending criminals, so she had plastered a smile on her face and told herself to grin and bare it. Told herself that this was better, that if she ever had a case as life-altering as Glass's again, she would never recover, so why not just avoid that possibility altogether? But that was then, and now that time had once again soothed her battered heart, she felt a familiar itch to get back on her horse (so to speak), and carry on her career.

The atmosphere, the unsaid feelings and judgmental opinions she could tell were forming in Mary Margret's mind, lifted significantly after she mentioned Archie, and the afternoon seemed to whizz by. Regina sat and listened while Mary told her all about the everyday happenings in her life; her second trimester of pregnancy didn't seem to kicking her ass as much as the first had, David had been offered a promotion to sergeant at the station but was unsure whether to take it because of the baby and his mother. Ruth's rehabilitation seemed to be going as well as it could after her stroke, but Mary Margaret found it very tiring caring for her sick mother-in-law _and _growing a human being in her uterus - she thanked god the school had been so lenient about her finishing work earlier then planned. They spoke of Henry's first day of fifth grade, the looming fact that next year he would start junior high and how it made them both feel about a hundred years old. Regina joked that she wished she had the ability to freeze time, could do with at least an extra thirty years or so of looking this age before she would feel grown up enough to actually begin getting old.

Her step-fathers third term of being mayor came up, skimmed over briefly with an icy "hmm," from Regina, and a completely oblivious, proud, smile from Mary Margaret. She changed the subject almost the second it had been brought up; Lee Blanchard may well have been a fantastic mayor - Regina would never disagree with that - but it didn't mean her skin didn't crawl at just the thought of the man. Not that she would ever tell her sisters that. No, as far as they were concerned, the relationship she shared with her step-father had always been the same he shared with his real daughters, loving and doting, proud and caring. The reality, (the lingering stares, the somewhat-uncomfortable-but-definitely-inappropriate compliments, that horrid way he would _breath her in_ with every embrace), was that actually their relationship was far from that of a father and his child. He had never actually touched her, never gone as far as that, accept that once when he'd placed his hand on her knee beneath the table at thanksgiving when she was seventeen, but Regina still shuddered at even the thought of him even now.

The issues she has with that man are deep and seated, will never go away no matter what age she is. She hasn't even told Archie about him. Cora knows, and what's more, Regina _knows_ that Cora knows. He told her once, while drunk at some bull shit charity event he had dragged them to, that he loved how much she looked like her mother. He had sauntered over to her at the buffet table, brushed away the hair that sat over her ear and whispered just how beautiful she was, how desirable he found her. She was her mother and more, younger in the skin, more pert in all the right places. His breath had reeked of alcohol, and she had grimaced in disgust at the sight of sweat collecting on his brow; the body of a woman and the mind of a child, Regina had burst into tears and told her mother everything, to which she had received a sharp slap across the face, and an order to never tell such disgraceful lies again. The only reason she'd kept her trap shut was because she was absolutely positive he didn't do the same with Emma and Mary Margaret. She didn't think he felt that way about other young girls ... just her, which somehow made her feel worse.

David gets home just as she and her sister are rounding up the conversation about Emma's latest squeeze; some man named August that Mary has high hopes for. Regina is more apprehensive, but then, she has Henry to think of. Not that her sister's sex life bothers her ... gets her a tiny bit jealous, perhaps ... she just wishes sometimes the blonde wouldn't be so open about things with her ten year old son.

"And how is my very favourite sister-in-law?" David asks, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before moving to wrap his arms around his wife. Regina rolls her eyes; they've been glued to each others sides from the very second they met, many moons ago now, and are still every bit as loved up as teenagers. It's sweet ... it also makes her sick to her stomach, makes her wonder if she behaved that way when she was with Daniel or whether time has made her bitter and cynical.

"Do you say that to Emma when she comes to visit, too?" She answers back, ghost of a smirk on her face as her eyebrow cocks. He grins guiltily.

"Regina might be going to London this week." David looks down at his wife's words, then back at Regina in surprise. She rolls her eyes, then gets up from the stool sitting at the island, and moves to grab her purse from the floor.

"And that's my cue to leave ... I'll let Mary Margaret fill you in."

Their goodbyes last a little longer than usual, which she finds a little odd, but honestly she has no idea how long she'll be gone for. David's embrace is strong and warm, and when he lifts her from her feet she squeezes him back a little harder than before. Mary Margaret begins to tear up, the hormones, she promises, but it makes Regina scoff anyway. She tells her sister she's going to England, not Mars, and to pull herself together, if she can't get through one goodbye with the step-sister she rarely sees, how on earth will she handle making the kid go to kindergarten when the time comes?

She receives one more lecture; don't do anything she doesn't want to, come home if she can't handle Gold, please don't come back with a British accent, and will she please set up a Skype account so they can still talk. Simple enough requests, she thinks, and agrees to each under the skeptical olive eyes of her little sister. After one last hug and another peck on the cheek when she belts up, Regina drives off into the night, and back to the city.

-§-

Darkness envelopes her when she finally shuts the front door of her apartment. It sits on the top floor, overlooks the city through large, bay windows and basks in glorious light as the sun moves round throughout the day. Annoyingly, her mother chose it, gave her the number to her real estate agent and demanded she move from the 'cave' she lived in when Henry went to live with Emma full time.

A wave of nostalgia hits her whenever she thinks of the tiny two bed she raised her nephew in, back when her salary didn't boast her skills as one of the state's top attorney's, and she didn't have an elevator that would have been extremely handy when lugging a stroller, shopping bags and case files up four flights of stairs. While she loves this apartment, loves the space and the light, the high ceilings and hardwood floors, loves that she can actually fit a bed _and_ wardrobe _and _desk in Henry's room without playing Tetris with the furniture, she won't deny the dull ache in her heart whenever she thinks of the home she and Henry shared just after she took him in.

She tosses her keys and purse to the sideboard sitting next to the door, kicks off her mary-janes and leans back against the entrance, still gripping the handle behind her back. A heavy sigh escapes her throat as her eyes meet the twinkling lights of the city through the glass walls of her apartment. Hers is on the corner of the building, and the windows are very nearly floor to ceiling, give an endless airiness to the open plan living area and makes the whole thing look five times larger then it actually is. The kitchen sits to the right of the front door, all ivory cupboards and glossy black worktops that reflect the little spotlights in the ceiling when they're on. It's not massive, but plenty big for just her, and Henry when he stays, has an island that fits bar stools snuggly under the counter, and an impressive wine rack down the side that she _tries_ to keep stocked.

The kitchen opens up onto her dining area, with nothing much there bar an overly priced, glass table and four matching chairs that reek of pretension. Regina wanted the nice dark oak one from Pottery Barn, the one that looked sturdy and practical, easy to clean for if Henry ever wanted to do arts and crafts, but alas, her mother had stuck her oar in, and the exact dining set she didn't want was delivered and made up before Regina could so much as utter the word no. Now when Henry stays with her, they resort to doing any messy activities up on the roof that she and the other tenants aren't technically supposed to go up to.

Her couch sits not too far from that god forsaken table. It's big, cornered and comfy, deep aubergine in colour, layered with dozens of different cushions, and has a throw draped over the back that she more often than not falls asleep under whenever watching late night trash on the TV that's mounted to the wall. In front of it lives a large, square, dark oak coffee table (one she actually _did_ get from Pottery Barn). It's littered with magazines and lesson objectives, unopened mail and her laptop, and when she finally turns on a lamp and collapses into the cushions, she throws her feet up to rest on it, enjoying the way the cool wood feels against her toes.

She's grown completely used to the silence that greets her at home now. For a long while after Henry left, she loathed so much as walking through the front door. It's now been four years since her nephew began living with Emma, but Regina isn't ashamed to say how much she still misses him ... misses his laughter filling rooms, cooking his dinner, making his packed lunches for school. She misses helping with his homework on a daily basis and reading to him before bedtime. Now she looks back, she sees Henry leaving may just have been the catalyst that drove her to throw herself into work; made her begin to take the cases of people accused of much more than just burglary or grand theft auto.

She's just pondering what to have for dinner, is very tempted to have Chinese food delivered when her laptop pings, alerting her to new mail. She sits up and drags the mac towards her, a wave of unexpected butterflies washes over her as she clicks to open the files attached to Gold's curt words of, '_case file is attached, a flight leaves Boston for Heathrow tomorrow evening_'. Her lips purse upon reading the email. Regina finds it incredibly annoying how he just assumes she's definitely coming ... (she is definitely going, no matter what the file says, but still, it annoys her all the same). The file takes an almost excruciating amount of time to load, and for at least thirty seconds, she's doing nothing but staring at a rather frustrating loading symbol.

The words appear on her screen first, but that isn't what catches her eye. Sure, she skims them, learns his name is Robin Locksley, thirty-eight years of age and 5"10 in height. She sees his crime, sees he is accused of the murder of one Liam Jones, notes they've found a murder weapon with his prints all over it. Her eyes dart over all the details however, because the second his mug shot springs into view, she is momentarily taken aback.

His eyes are all she can take in. They're the kind of blue that would look different in every kind of light, and even through the screen of her laptop, seem to be staring intensely back at her. His face is lined, through worry in this picture, but she can tell when he smiles the creases in his skin would paint an entirely different picture. He's hansom ... _very_ hansom, has a strong, stubbled jaw and a skin tone that sits perfectly against his dark blonde hair. There's more though ... it's something most people wouldn't notice ... it's a pain, a darkness and depression that sits beneath an otherwise stoic expression. Even without meeting him, she notices it. Regina can see the hopelessness etched on his face because she's felt it before too. Twice. Empathy fills her heart, and for a short while, all she does is stare at the deep blue of his eyes while her mind reels as to what this man could possibly have gone through in his life to be victim to such desolation.

He's not guilty of the crime he's accused of, she feels that right down to her bones. Sure, the police have found a hand gun, sure it has his prints on, of course he has a past association with one of London's most notorious gangs, but he is not guilty. Being in the game as long as she has, she can spot those truly culpable from a mile away, and while this man may be many things, a killer he is not.

The rest of her night is then taken over. She books the flight Gold mentioned, re-reads the case files, caves and orders an egg roll and minced duck lettuce wrap to eat while she packs. She calls Emma, asks if she can drop by in the morning because she has something important to discuss; her sister attempts to get the information out of her on the phone by, rather impressively, reminding her of the last time she 'needed to talk'. Regina rolls her eyes at the memory, ignores her brief flashback to the time she called Emma and saying that, (she was half naked in her dates bathroom balling her eyes out because she'd forgotten Daniels birthday), and holds her own. She can't tell her she's leaving for a significant period of time over a receiver. And she definitely won't let Emma be the one to break it to Henry either.

"I'll bring breakfast," she says brightly, knowing the promise of food will win the blonde over in a heartbeat.

There's a pause, and then she wins. "If there's no blueberry muffins, I'm not letting you in."

"Duly noted."

They say their good nights, and she's left penning a grocery list before sending Gold a reply. She's left it as long as possible, wanted to make him sweat it out before finally confirming that yes, she will be helping on the case.

_Count me in. Flights booked. _

-§-

The next morning has her on the receiving end of Henry and Emma's critical gazes.

"But ... I thought you weren't going to work for him anymore?" Henry asks, and guilt squeezes her heart like an iron vise. She throws a glance Emma's way, begging with her eyes for her sister to lend a hand in explaining to the ten year old they both love so much, that actually, life isn't quite as simple as how he can see it. Emma though, having finally stopped glaring at Regina for waking her earlier than appreciated on a Saturday, seems at a loss for words too.

When she had arrived that morning and her nephew had greeted her at the front door, she'd had to bite her tongue and ignore the disappointment upon seeing her sister was still in bed and not watching her son. Logic had wormed its way into her mind;_ it's Saturday, Regina, Emma can have a lie in if she wants_ ... _Henry is ten years old, watching cartoons and eating Lucky Charms is pretty much all he likes doing on a weekend anyway_ ... _he would never have opened the door if it was an actual stranger_. There is no doubt in her mind whatsoever that Emma is a fantastic mother to Henry, (she wouldn't have agreed to give up her guardianship if she didn't think her sister could raise him the way he deserved to be raised), but still, the responsible 'mother' in her almost always rears its ugly head whenever faced with a decision she feels is questionable when it comes to how Emma chooses to bring up her nephew.

"I'm not working for him again, sweetheart, not really," she says, and means it too. One case, it's just one case and then she's out of it. For good. She sets down the breakfast snacks she'd promised last night on the phone - the blueberry muffins, an assortment of croissants, fresh fruit and greek yogurt; things she knows Emma will wolf down without hesitation, plus an overly large triple chocolate cookie for Henry - then kneels in front of the boy so she's below his eye level, and takes his hands in her own."He just needs my help with one case, then I _promise_ I'll be home and back to teaching." He looks completely dubious at her words, pursing his lips and causing his little cheeks to puff out. They're not chubby like they used to be when he was tiny, but then, she reasons, he's no longer the little boy who could just barely reach to cuddle around her middle. He's growing, changing every day before her very eyes, and the idea of not witnessing these things first hand over, possibly, the next few months has her biting back rare tears. "I talked to Archie about it, and he thinks it's a good idea."

"He does?" Emma jumps in, sounding more than surprised and not bothering to hide it. Regina throws a glare her way from her position still knelt on the floor.

"But ... you'll have to go and live in London, won't you?" He asks. Regina feels her eyes begin to water, a thickness developing in her throat she would really rather not fall prey to, and grips Henry's hands harder.

"Only for a little while. It's not permanent, and if you ever need me to come home, I promise I'm back home on the next flight faster then you can say Oceanic Airlines, okay?"

He still doesn't seem convinced, so Emma wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, planting a kiss on the top of his head. "You know what kid, if Archie thinks this is a good idea then I don't think we can ask Regina to stay, do you?"

He shrugs, then says, "but I didn't think you were gonna help the bad guys again."

She shakes her head firmly. "I'm not. This man is innocent, Henry, I just know it. I have to go and help him because he isn't the bad guy, not this time." Her words sound so sure, it surprises even herself, and then an idea pops into her head. "I'm not gonna sublet my place, so you can still go over with Em whenever you want to. You can have all your friends over whenever you want and watch the big TV," she says it preying the trivial temptation of a 50" plasma will win him over.

She didn't ever see the point in having a TV so big, but Emma didn't really have room for one and Henry had been going through a serious Middle Earth fascination as of late; he'd wanted to watch the Lord of the Rings on a big screen so desperately she'd caved and forked out. Curse whoever decided it would be a good idea to make The Hobbit into a film franchise, because the night she and Emma had taken him to see it, he'd quite firmly announced he would never be able to watch them on anything less than perfect quality television.

"Yeah and you know what, we can take the xbox over there and hook it up to the surround sound. Can you imagine playing 'God of War' on that thing?!" Emma says, shifting the tone of her voice so that Henry will hopefully get excited by the prospect of have sugar-filled sleepovers with his friends while destroying her living room, rather than upset over the fact that she's going.

It works, and his eyes dance with excitement as a little smile graces his face. "And I could show Aaron my room at yours!"

Regina grins. She never been fond of that obnoxious little brat; he's the one friend of Henry's she really could do without being invited to her home, namely because she knows his father from their circles in law and she dislikes his just as much. Suddenly now, as petty as it is, letting Henry show off a bit seems like a completely just idea.

She makes Emma help her get back up to her feet, then pulls her nephew into a fierce embrace. Henry buries his head in her torso, wrapping his arms around her middle as she holds his head and ruffles his hair. It needs cutting, she thinks, makes a mental note to tell Emma to book him an appointment before he starts school, or she'll risk him looking like he's wearing a mushroom on his head for his school photo.

They all eat breakfast together. Regina sticks to the fruit while Emma and Henry devour the rest, laughs when Henry lifts the cookie she's brought, up to his face only to realise it's actually so big his head nearly disappears behind it. She revels in spending every second with them, doesn't like to think about how many weeks may have gone by when she next sees them, and feels her heart swell out of the blue as she watches her little sister and nephew giggling over cream mustaches created by their hot cocoas.

It's a while later, when Henry settles in front of his cartoons once again that Emma finally rounds on her. "So you really think you can handle this?"

She nods, breathes out a soft sigh and closes her eyes, has to remind herself that they're all just worried, that there's no point in arguing when she's only got the next ten hours left in the country. "Yeah, I really do."

Emma eyes her for a second before nodding, letting it drop, and seemingly trusting her judgement, for which Regina thoroughly appreciates. As much as she loves Mary Margaret, she most definitely has more in common with her youngest step-sibling ... they may well have spent the majority of Emma's teenage years locking horns and having screaming matches, but ever since Regina offered to take Henry in, there's been a level of trust and understanding there that's brought them closer.

"Have you told your mom yet?" Emma asks, sipping her coffee.

Regina's face scrunches, and she lets out a groan at the mere thought of calling her mother. "Not yet ... I was just gonna leave a note with their housekeeper. Do you think that'd be alright?"

Emma barks out a laugh and leans forward at the table, pulling her pajama sleeves over her hands. "What? Dear mom, I've eloped, goodbye?"

She lets out a chuckle and replies sarcastically, "you think that wouldn't go down well?"

"_I _think that would mean poor Juanita gets fired for even being the messenger."

"Ugh, I can't even stomach the thought of her smugness when I tell her I've caved and gone back to work for him. She'll be unbearable."

"Relax, just call my dad and tell him. That way Cora finds out and you don't have to deal with the I-told-you-so's," Emma says with a shrug.

Regina leans back in her chair, quietening at the mention of her step-father and turning her gaze to Henry, who is completely engrossed in the TV, lying on his front with his chin propped up by his hands. A slight atmosphere falls on them, and she knows Emma can feel it too, but not for the right reasons. Emma and Mary Margaret simply think that the reason Regina doesn't like their father is because hers left to go back to Puerto Rica all those years ago ... honestly, like she would really have the energy to hold a grudge with someone for nigh-on two decades?

She clears her throat and leaves her seat, feeling more than seeing Emma roll her eyes as she moves past the couch to where Henry is lying. "Alright sweetheart, I'm going now."

She purposely keeps their goodbyes as brief as she kept David and Mary's. They talk all the way to the front door, she pushes a list of requests for when she's gone into Emma's hand - it's basic things, namely, please get her mail and make sure her apartment doesn't burn down, but she was smart enough to add on the end '_NO HOUSE PARTIES - unless it's Henry and his friends'_. The blonde cocks an eyebrow at the words, and mutters "why do you trust a bunch of ten year children more than you trust me?!"

"Because I know who all of Henry's friends are. And their parents. Who knows what delinquents you hang out with?"

Her smirk is met by a sarcastic "ha ha, funny," from her sister.

She lets them get as far as the stairs, squeezes Henry as tight as she can without cutting off his air supply, then pulls her sister into a rare embrace.

"Watch yourself out there," Emma says in her ear, quietly, because Henry is watching them. Regina nods on her shoulder, knowing she's warning her to watch for Gold. She's been burned by him before, and they both know he'll do it again in a heartbeat if it means winning a case that has his name attached.

Leaving puts a weight on her heart that takes her breath away even though she's expecting it, and when she shuts the door of their building and strides down the steps of their stoop, a lump rises in her throat so thick she has to remind herself that she actually _wants_ to go.

The day goes by in a flash. She doesn't call her step-dad like Emma suggested, instead leaves a message with his secretary to please inform the Mayor that she's going out of town for a while, doesn't know when she'll be back, and if he needs to contact her, ask one of his daughters. Oh, and would he also tell her mother?

Her request is met by a host of questions from Johanna, Lee's secretary, all of which Regina brushes over. She feels a little mean, snapping at the alarmingly nervous, British woman who has worked for her step-father for as long as Regina can remember, but the thought of that man getting so much as an inkling of her personal life makes her skin crawl.

She drops by her office at the university, behaving at first very sheepishly until her boss tells her to relax. Gold has indeed kept his word and called in his 'favour', what ever it was ... her job will still be here when she gets home. She's mildly impressed; the Dean doesn't even moan about having to find cover, and not for the first time since he called, she wonders just what the hell Gold had over the woman who signs her pay cheques.

Not that she'll ever ask. She pushes the curiosity out of her mind as she leaves, reminding herself that she now only has seven hours before her flight leaves and she's yet to put a single item of clothing in her luggage.

The packing is tedious, stressful, and downright soul sucking. She fills three cases and a carry on before she finally convinces herself she's taking enough clothes to last the rest of the decade. _You'll be there a few months, max, Regina. Yeesh. _Thank god she could afford first class and extra baggage or she'd end up having to leave things behind.

And honestly, taking one pair of her Louboutins and leaving the others behind just seems cruel. No shoes deserve that.

-§-

Her flight is due to leave at 19:25pm precisely, so when she arrives at Logan International just past six, she knows she's cutting it fine. She stands, shifting her weight from one leg to the other at the drop off point outside departures, trying and failing to reign in her temper because the driver is being pathetically slow at hoisting her cases out the trunk.

She's tried to help twice already, snapped that she was quite capable of getting her own bags, because he quite clearly needed help, but he wouldn't have it. Okay, fair enough, she knows she's probably over packed, she knows they _do _sell clothes in London, that she probably didn't need half the shoes she's put in ... but the idea of leaving her homeland for another country anything less than prepared for every eventuality, is something she's just not willing to do.

By the time he's finally loaded all her luggage onto her trolley, she's sending prayers of thanks for online check-in, because otherwise, she would definitely be that frustrating person that holds up a flight because they didn't get to the airport with a good few hours spare.

She spends the entire flight telling herself to turn off her laptop and get some sleep, that Gold won't take jet lag as an excuse for tardiness (even though it will be Sunday when she arrives, he's already emailed and told her they'll be meeting to go over everything). She can't do it though, can't stop herself from reading Robin's file over and over, combing the words for every single detail they offer until she's pretty certain she could relay it back without so much as a second glance at the screen.

His photo doesn't help. It might well be a mug shot, most definitely not his best expression, but there's something about it that she just can't help but stare at. His eyes fill her mind with questions that can't be answered by a word document, the lines of his face make up a story she's itching to read, and once again, she's filled with the irrevocable notion that he is not guilty.

More than once, her gaze gets pulled to the little window on her left. She watches the sun set, then rise, takes in the breathing taking view of rolling clouds blanketed by a sky that's alight with colours. Pinks and oranges and purples as she leaves one time zone in favour of another ... the kind of view that makes her scrutinise every detail in her life. He darts in and out of her mind, makes her eyes move back to the screen and drag her finger across the mouse pad whenever her mac goes into sleep mode.

The flight attendant makes her turn it off in the end, because they're beginning the decent into Heathrow, and she's suddenly left wondering where the hell the last seven hours ran away to.

The landing is smooth, for which she is grateful. Flying doesn't necessarily bother her, but landing always makes Regina dizzy, makes her long for a break pedal to press down on as the airplane carts over the runway after finally hitting the ground. It always stops, obviously, but it doesn't mean she doesn't panic that it will carry on going until it crashes into the airport.

The lack of sleep starts to creep up on her as she's waiting at baggage claim. Her back hurts, her eyes sting, her stomach grumbles in its empty state ... she needs coffee ... and a shower to get the last 8 hours of _plane_ off her skin. The carrousel sends her into a trance, and twice she misses her last case as it passes. Thankfully, she chose to stand next to an older guy in a business suit who helped lug the bags onto the trolley she's grabbed, (she may well have offered to help the cab driver back in Boston, but really, who was she kidding? They were all far too heavy for her to lift ... perhaps she should have rethought all the shoes, after all).

It's nearly an hour after she gets off the plane that she finally drags the trolley through to arrivals, eyes scanning the crowd of greeters that wait for their family or friends to emerge. A slight frown forms between her eyebrows as she looks ... Gold assured her someone would be waiting when she arrived. She puts her weight behind the trolley and pushes it further out, searching every face to see who she may recognise. She's about to give up, about to call and yell at him for obviously misreading what time she landed when a woman catches her eye.

She's standing just outside the sliding glass doors, blonde hair whipping around her face in the wind as she chats on the phone whilst dragging on a cigarette, holding a large white sign under her arm with the name 'MILLS' written across it. Regina feels herself roll her eyes and grin before moving through the crowds and coming to stand directly behind her.

The wind feels cool against her skin, and a shiver shudders its way through her body. It's the middle of August, but apparently, London has missed that memo, because its _cold_. Or at least she thinks it is, anyway.

"I'm not sure, darling, it will take as long as it takes," the blonde is saying, completely oblivious that Regina is standing behind her, pursing her lips with a mocking, bitchy expression on her face. She clears her throat dramatically, and it's only then does the woman turn. She's wearing sunglasses - god knows why, it's cloudy - but Regina still sees the surprise light up her face. "I've got to go. Duty calls!" She hangs up the phone instantly, throws it in the purse dangling off her arm, then pulls the last remnants of her smoke before stubbing it out on the floor. For a second, all they do is stare, then Regina breaks the silence.

"Well ... you got old," she says, face as straight as she can keep it before a ghost of a smirk twitches in the corners of her mouth. A loud shriek meets her ears as the blonde laughs and pulls her into a tight embrace, and she laughs right back. "How are you, Mel?"

"I'm fine, darling, just fine. And yourself? Gold told me all about Glass, what a shit."

Melissa Fentt was the only member of Gold's legal team Regina would go as far as to say she liked. She was loud, abrasive, drank too much and had a way of adding swear words into every sentence she spoke, but there was just something about her that could make Regina smile. Mel was slightly older, and already working for Gold when she and Zelena were hired at the tender ages of twenty-four. The woman had just as much of a reputation back home as Gold did; her no nonsense attitude, blunt words and fiery temper made her a real dragon in a court room, and Regina knew she'd been dismissed on more than one occasion for yelling at a judge. Even so, she took Regina under her wing and showed her the ropes when Gold gave her her first case ... he had refused to offer help of any kind but promised to fire her if she didn't win - which she had only done so in the end thanks to Mel.

The blonde hails them a black cab, the kind Regina has only seen on TV, and begins giving her the lowdown on the case that Gold has dragged them all here for. It's details she already knows from the emails he's sent, but she doesn't interrupt her old friend, wants to hear the story again from a different point of view.

"Have you met him?" She asks, coyly digging for more details about him.

"Not yet, we've been working out of Gold's office. Locksley will stay inside unless we can get him out on bail, though, so I imagine it's only a matter of time."

"Can he afford it?"

"Apparently so ... but that won't matter if the judge isn't on his side. There's an awful lot of evidence stacking up against him. This won't be easy."

She scrunches her face. "Am I the last to arrive?"

Mel nods. "You are. Lennie got here the day before yesterday, and Jeff was already in London." Regina feels her eyebrows rise in surprise. That she did not expect. "He's got a new stooge too," Mel carries on, a wicked smirk spreading across her mouth, before Regina can ask anymore about their other colleague, Jeff. She trusts _him_ about as far as she can throw him.

"Oh boy, who?"

"Some kid named Peter. Gold's mentoring him personally while he studies at Oxford. I don't like him. He's smug."

Regina chuckles. "He and Gold will get along just fine then."

They talk nonstop on the long drive through London, catch up on everything that's happened in the two years since they've worked together. Mel was working out of Washington when Gold called, had just finished defending a con artist who had ripped off a wealthy go-getter for more than a million dollars. She asks about Henry, which Regina appreciates - she knows it doesn't interest her old friend in the slightest, but is always grateful of any opportunity to talk about her nephew.

They touch briefly on the city, and Regina actually feels excited as they drive through the streets and past the Thames. She spots the London Eye in the distance, and then the Shard building, wishes Henry was here with her, because he'd just lap it all up. She makes a mental note to do some of the touristy things before she leaves so she can take photos to show him.

Forty minutes go by before they finally reach the hotel Gold's put them all up in. It's a tall building, so she's not exactly sure how she missed it on the drive; it sits behind the lines between Battersea Power Station and the park, is hidden behind two beautiful blocks of flats, and has a small seating area out front that guests sit at while drinking.

The doorman can't be more attentive. He manages to take Regina's luggage, hold a conversation with the cab driver _and_ get her inside the lobby without so much as breaking a sweat. It's impressive, she thinks.

As is the lobby.

It's not boastful, not too pretentious, has a large bar to her left and a dining area to her right; all the essentials without any of the fuss that usually comes with spa hotels. She likes it.

It's just hitting 9:20AM when she finally gets the chance to collapse on a bed. Her hotel room is pretty damn perfect. A large, spacious bed sits in the middle of a light, airy room, and there's a plush, white leather couch that tucks beneath a window so large is nearly fills the entire wall space. Her room overlooks the power station, and while some may consider it unsightly, Regina just thinks it's all part of her experience in this city. She can see the Eye in the distance, thinks again she'll have to go there if she gets chance, and then just drinks in the rest of her view. A smile graces her face, and she knows for certain that coming here was the right thing, she needed it.

She just hadn't _known_ she'd needed it.

She spends the first part of her morning unpacking, then jumps in the shower - spends a good five minutes trying to figure out how in the hell to work the faucet - then calls Gold to tell him she's arrived.

Her eyes sting with sleeplessness as he talks, tells her he's changed his mind, not to bother coming to the office today because he's busy, and for a split second, she genuinely thinks she may just have bagged the first day on the job, off.

"I could do with you going to see him at the prison this afternoon." Ah. Not so lucky. "I've called ahead to say you'll be coming. I need you to dig into his life as much as you can. If we're going to have a hope in hells chance of getting him bail, the judge is going to need to really buy what we're selling."

"Which is what?"

"That he's being framed."

She nods, then remembers he can't see her. "Right." There's a pause between the pair, a moment she doesn't know how to fill, and apparently, neither does Gold. "So ... do you think he's innocent?" She asks, the awkwardness getting the better of her.

He sighs. "Yes, I actually do."

Regina feels her curiosity deepen. Gold ... Mr Gold ... the man that built her up only to tear her apart a decade later ... is actually defending a man he genuinely believes is innocent. Has hired back the very best defensive minds in their field, and expects her to believe there's not something incredibly strange happening? The frown that's formed between her brow deepens. "Okay ... I'll get straight over there, then."

Suddenly her tiredness is forgotten. She really needs to find out just what the hell happened, and straight from the horses mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, she's in another black cab, this time, on its way to Pentonville Prison.

-§-

She takes a deep breath when she gets out the cab, hoping the intake of air will wake her up a little bit, thinks maybe she should have argued Gold and left this until tomorrow, spent the day sleeping so she could be on her best game. The driver shouts a word of thanks through the window, then leaves her standing on the sidewalk outside the prison's main entrance.

From the outside, it doesn't look like a prison at all.

That's her first thought as her eyes take in the high, white walls and seamless architecture of the building now standing in her stead, and it's only when she reaches the inside does she realise those walls aren't actually part of the prison building at all. They surround it, hide it from view; like a flesh coloured bandaid designed to disguise an ugly wound.

The guard that greets her seems friendly; a tall, balding man with a pot belly and red cheeks.

"Hi, I'm wondering if you can help me," she says, putting on her most polite smile when she leans forward on the desk fronting the long corridor that separates them from the criminals being held here. "I called earlier in regards to seeing my client ... Regina Mills."

"Ah yes," he says, with such a strong accent she's not entirely sure she'll be able to understand him if he says much more. "You work for Mr Gold, don't you, treacle?" She cocks an eyebrow, does _not_ appreciate being called treacle by someone she feels should be professional. "He's in A wing, I'll give them a call and tell them you're here."

"Thank you," she murmurs, watching as he swings round in the swivel chair he sits at, then moves out of the door adjacent to the glass wall she's leaning in front of. Not one second later, he's by her side, barking instructions into a walkie attached to his shoulder for someone to get Locksley into room 23 because his attorney is here to see him.

He walks with her, escorts her through the routine security checks they have to perform in order to let her any further into the building, then guides her down long, gloomy, once-white corridors that make her feel depressed and cranky. God knows what it must feel like to walk these halls everyday, she's only been here fifteen minutes and she already feels like she's climbing the walls.

It's always been the one part of her job she dislikes. Going to prisons. It's tedious, and time consuming, and she really doesn't like her purse and person being scanned and searched by some stranger who usually either looks so bored they're verging on statuesque, or disgustingly thrilled that they get to feel her up.

She's lost in thought when they reach room 23, is only pulled from her mind when the guard stops just short of a heavy grey door with a tiny glass window at the top. A second officer is standing outside, her hands folded in front of her body. She gives a small smile and nod to Regina who returns the gesture before looking back at the man who's escorted her thus far.

"Take as long as you need, treacle," her teeth clench, there's that damn name again. He gestures to the woman in front of them. "Sam will be stationed outside, just holler if you need anything." He pulls the door for her, and she throws a thankful nod in his direction before stepping inside.

And then her eyes are on his, this Robin Locksley. She was right, his eyes are the kind of blue that look a different colour depending on what light he's standing in. Right now they look more grey ... but no less enticing. He stands as she enters, and when she places her files and note pad on the table, she notices that he looks exhausted.

She offers her hand, which he takes without hesitation. "Mr Locksley, my name is Regina Mills, I work for Mr Gold. It's nice to meet you."

He nods, then pulls his hand from her own, gestures for her to take the seat opposite his. "I'd say the same to you, but, given the circumstances ..."

She gives him sad, small smile, then leans forwards lacing her fingers together as she finally lets herself take his his appearance in the flesh and not over a screen. He's even more good looking in person, even with the worry etched on his face, wearing light grey sweats, a white tee with an open denim shirt over the top, and a pair of scruffy trainers.

"Honestly, I'd be a little concerned if you said it was nice to meet me," she says, then feels a warmth spread through her body when he gives her a small smile back. He has a nice smile. And dimples. She glances away for a second, clears her throat to shake the inappropriate thoughts from her mind, then continues, "Mr Gold asked me to come here today to discuss getting you out on bail."

His brow furrows slightly. "I thought he'd be doing that himself?"

"Well he's heading your case ... but his legal team all have different attributes that are gonna help clear your name. I'm here to make sure we portray your character in the right way."

"And that's going to help get me out of here while we wait for a court date?"

"Absolutely. I need to be able to convince the judge that you're not a danger to anybody outside this prison."

"I'm _not_," he says, leaning forward to mirror her body language.

"I know that," she replies calmly. "But the judge doesn't. Now, Gold told me what he could about you, but I'm afraid it's not enough detail to get you released just yet and I'd really like to get you in front of the judge tomorrow if I can. The sooner we get you out of here, the sooner we can start building your defense properly."

She pulls her note pad towards her, glances down at the blank page as she pushes the top of her pen down with a click. He sighs heavily, drops his head forward as his shoulders sag, then looks back up and into her eyes.

"Alright ... what do you need to know?"

Her brow raises. Isn't that obvious? "Everything."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: My apologises for the delay in update, life did that annoying thing and got in the way of writing. This chapter is slightly shorter, but I'll be updating again very, very soon, so hopefully the two updates will make up for the lack of length! _

_This chapter is focused solely on setting up why Robin has been arrested … it pretty much sets the story up from here on out. HUGE shout out to the ever wonderful mysterious-song, without whom this whole thing would just be a forgotten word document on my laptop. Thank god this fandom houses people like her, and her mad law-investigative skills! Seriously, she's awesome. If you're not already reading 'Did you know you're knocking hips with a killer Queen?" then, firstly, where the heck have you been, and secondly, GET ON IT! _

_Enjoy! Let me know what you guys think!_

Chapter Three.

They begin slowly.

Regina relaxes back in her chair as best she can - it's the kind of uncomfortable plastic that makes your ass go numb almost the second you sit down, and she mentally grimaces that she'll probably be sitting in it for the next few hours. She tells him they'll ease in, that she won't push him for details straight away, and would he please just begin by telling her about himself.

He nods with a gentle sigh, then shrugs, bringing his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. Talking about himself makes him feel uncomfortable, she notices, it means he's not arrogant. She can use that, people like modest people.

He starts with general things, and as he talks, she learns that he currently lives in the Richmond area (wherever that is), designs and builds furniture for a living, and owns a workshop to run his business with his best friend John.

"Last name?" She asks, then clarifies, "John's, I'll need to contact him when I start putting character witnesses together."

"Oh, I see. His name is John Little."

She pens the name, then looks back up at him. "Right, okay, carry on."

He clears his throat, continues, "I have a three year old son ... his name is Roland," he says, then visibly relaxes as Regina smiles warmly, letting her mind wonder whether he looks like Robin.

"Roland's with his mother now, I take it?" She asks, then kicks herself when he responds.

"His godmother, Mulan, she's one of my oldest friends. I'm a single father ... Roland's mum passed away a few weeks after he was born, I'm afraid."

"I'm so sorry, how tragic."

"Very ... but, in all honesty, it feels like a lifetime ago now," he says, and it peeks her curiosity. Three years after Daniel died she could still barely think of him without her lungs being robbed of oxygen. At that point it still felt like it had happened the day before, not a life time ago. He must see the interest in her eyes, because a second later he adds, "we weren't together when we had Roland."

Ah. That explains it. Sort of.

She nods again, then decides to slide past the slightly uncomfortable moment she's created. "Can you tell me what happened on that day? On the nineteenth?"

"It started out like any other ... it was just a typical day, and then Killian-"

"No, sorry," she interrupts, dropping her pen and lacing her fingers together atop her word scattered note pad. "I want it in detail, from start to finish ... tell me exactly what happened that day," she says, somewhat firmly, then adds, "as best you can remember, I know you've probably repeated it about a million times. But I need it just once more," because she doesn't want him to think she's some demanding bitch.

Robin sighs heavily, rubs his eyes, then rakes his hands through his hair before letting his arms fall heavily on the table. His hands land at the edge of her page, if she moves her little fingers just one inch forward, they'll be touching, so she pulls them back. When he speaks again, his words have a bite she wouldn't have guessed he would be possible of.

"My alarm went off at quarter to seven, just as it does every morning. I snoozed it until five past, just like I do every morning. I got up, jumped in the shower, I was in there for approximately seven minutes, and then I got dressed. I hadn't put a new load of washing in the night before though, so couldn't wear the green shirt I wanted to wear-"

"Alright, enough," she snaps, irritation growing by the second. He's mocking her, and while she can fully appreciate she is the last person he probably wants to be talking to right now, she's also his only hope of getting out of here. She gets it, _knows_ that it must be completely soul-sucking to have to repeat the same words over and over, to relive a day she's sure he'd rather forget and just return home to his son, but she won't put up with sarcasm. Especially not when it's usually her who's dishing it out. "Robin, I'm not trying to piss you off, really, I'm not. I need this information to help get you out of here."

He closes his eyes before he replies, a look of shame flashing over his features. "I'm sorry. I know you're only here to help ... I just ..." another sigh escapes his throat, and sympathy tugs at her heart. He looks much smaller than he actually is, like he's been kicked by the universe over and over, and wants nothing more than to run away. "I guess it still hasn't sunk in that all this is happening. I mean, last week I was organising a trip to Cbeebies World for my sons fourth birthday, and now I've been accused of murdering one of my oldest friends, for fuck's sake."

"Look, I can't imagine what you're feeling like right now, but I can't help you unless you drop the attitude. As much as I'm sure you don't like it, you and I are going to have to work together to convince the judge you're not a total asshole. Believe me, if they don't warm to you, it can be the difference between spending the weeks until your trial at home or behind bars. Which neither of us wants, trust me." The expression he wears now is full of sorrow, and makes Regina reign in the temper that's bubbling in her chest. She softens her words by adding, "and if I have to spend the next few months coming to see you in here, I'll be forced to put up with that guard calling me treacle every few minutes ... please don't subject me to that."

He chuckles, then nods, a warmth appearing behind his eyes that hadn't been there a moment before. "I'm sorry. Thank you, Mrs Mills."

She grins at the term, then purses her lips and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Why oh why can she not just be a single woman in her mid thirties without constantly being accused of being married to someone? It's her own damn fault though, she shouldn't still be wearing the ring Daniel gave her what now feels like eons ago, but her finger feels naked without it. "Miss. And I prefer Regina."

"Well, Regina," he says, leaning forward on his elbows at the table once more, "you are being much more polite about this than Mr Gold was when I first called."

"That's not difficult," she chuckles. "Gold may well get the job done, but he isn't exactly warm and fuzzy around the edges."

"I noticed."

"I'm," she starts, then stops when his eyes meet her own. They've gone completely off track; she hasn't so much as written a single helpful word since he began telling her about his furniture business, has had to mentally scold herself more than once for wanting to converse back to him ... like they're just two strangers getting to know one another.

_Jesus, Regina this isn't a date. You're in an interview room in a prison, for gods sake._

"You're what?" He asks, seemingly curious to her unsaid sentence.

She clears her throat, then smiles, eyes squinting slightly out of interest. "It's just ... I've known Mr Gold a very long time ... and in all those years, I can't ever remember him taking the case of person who was genuinely innocent."

"You don't believe I'm innocent?"

"No," she says quickly, then back peddles, realises she's just told him she doesn't believe him. "You do this as long as I have, you kind of get a feeling for the people who're guilty and who aren't. You are most definitely innocent. I guess I'm just curious as to why Gold's taken your case himself, and not given it to one of his lackeys." Her words leave her mouth as she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, genuinely not expecting a response that would settle this strange need to know she has.

His eyes, however, suddenly give him away. An unreadable expression flashes across his face, and Regina feels one of her eyebrows rise. Oh, he definitely knows why Gold's taken his case ... and it peeks her interest even further. Robin, it seems, isn't willing to give that information up just yet though, and simply answers, "well then, I guess I just got lucky."

For a beat, they just gauge each other, and before she can tell herself to get back to work, three distinct sides of herself go to war. One side of her head, the pushy, vicious, go-getting lawyer side, scolds her for wanting to give her client yearning doe eyes from across the table. The other side is blushing, quietly egging on this feeling she has that perhaps she isn't the only one out of them who feels drawn to the other. This side feels completely naked under his gaze and has her fighting to look anywhere other than those eyes ... but her heart, the final part that engages in this emotional battle, forces her to hold his stare. Her heart won't let her eyes leave his even if she wanted them to. She's been sucked in now, by his smile and his voice and the sincerity of his expression when he spoke of his son. By those eyes ... the endless tones of blue currently drinking her in, and quite suddenly, she thinks she's forgotten to breathe.

She could sit here and look at his face every day for the rest of her life and die a happy woman, she thinks, and would too, if it weren't for the fact that the plastic of this damn chair is finally giving her ass pins and needles. She shifts her stance, never breaking his gaze, but when her leg bumps the table and her pen rolls with a little clatter onto the floor, they're snapped from their weird little ... _moment_.

She clears her throat, brings her fingers up to brush her hair away from her face, then throws him a small, shy smile. "So ... the nineteenth?"

This time when he answers, it sounds much less like the frustrated play by play he had began moments before, and more like a speech he's now repeated so many times he can reel it off without a second thought.

"The day started out like any other. I got Roland dressed and we had breakfast, but instead of going to the workshop like we usually do, I called John and said we'd be late in, because Roland starts reception on the 2nd and I still haven't bought his school shoes." The mention of his son makes the fluid motion of her writing hand stop in its tracks, and she looks up in surprise. She can't help it, knows there's this judgmental look forming on her face, but honestly, the fact he's left it not even two weeks before term starts before buying school essentials has her wanting to roll her eyes in exasperation. _Men_.

"We got half way to Stratford when John called and said he'd made a mistake with one of our orders, that the customer needed their furniture finished for the twenty-first, not the thirtieth, like we thought, so me and Roland got off the tube one stop early and came back so I could help get the pieces finished. I finished working around five, and we stopped off at Sainsbury's to get some food shopping done, then went home."

"What time did you get home?"

"Around six, I think. Killian was already at mine when we got there. Sneaky bastard had broken in."

"This being Killian Jones, right?" He nods at her question. "Tell me about him."

Robin lets out a heavy sigh. "He's my oldest friend, was my very best friend when we were kids. Our parents moved in the same circles, we went to Westminster, then on to Oxford together, but I haven't seen him in years."

"How many?"

He shakes his head, as though he's lost in a sea of memories, trying to count back the years in his head. "Sixteen, maybe?"

"That's a long time to go without seeing your best friend," she states, hoping he has a good answer because everything she's asking him, he will be asked again by the prosecution when his trial eventually starts. And they won't be nearly as nice as she is.

"Yes, well, we didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms. Which is why you can imagine my surprise when I came home from work with my toddler to find him sitting on my kitchen counter eating cereal straight out the box."

She nods, jots down some notes, then looks up for him to continue.

"I knew he wouldn't be up to anything good the second he said he needed my help with something, so I told him to get out, I told him I didn't want anything to do with whatever it was he'd gotten himself mixed up in this time, and marched him out the front door. Roland was crying, because he doesn't like me shouting, Killian was trying to fight me off ... it was all a bit of a ruckus, I'm afraid."

"I'll bet. So, Killian's barged his way in, isn't leaving without a fight, and your son is scared to death watching you attempt to frog march a stranger from the house ... what happened next?"

"My neighbor came around. She babysits for Roland from time to time because she has two younger brothers that come to stay at her place sometimes, and Roland likes playing with Michael and John. She offered to take Roland for a few hours, make sure he got some tea, and told me to just come for him whenever I was ready. I think she was just trying to get him out of the situation to be honest."

"So why did you agree? You were all set to throw Killian out two seconds prior, what changed?"

"Wendy. When she offered to watch Roland, she was standing in front of Killian; as soon as he knew Roland would be out of ear shot, he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Okay, Roland's with Wendy. What did Killian want?"

He pauses for a second, gauges Regina like perhaps she might not like what she's about to hear, then presses his lips together before spilling out more details of the night he got arrested. "He told me he'd been offered a large sum of money in exchange for moving some merchandise, that's what he called it, merchandise, out of the country, and would I be able to make a piece of furniture he would be able to hide this .. whatever it was ... in so he could smuggle it undetected. He told me he'd pay me well, to which I assured him I didn't need any money, that unlike him I haven't blown through my parents inheritance, and I didn't want to be involved.

"He started getting more agitated then, started tossing around phrases like I'd regret it if I didn't help, that the people he works for wouldn't let me say no without consequences, and when I asked what exactly he meant by that, he told me that I'm only one man, that I'd never be able to keep my eyes on my son every second of every day, and well ... I panicked."

Regina closes her eyes, takes a deep breath in, and feels her heart squeeze with sympathy. Roland had been threatened, it's no wonder Robin ended up in the situation he did, she's about to say so too, (something she definitely shouldn't, but she can't stand the idea that he's feeling guilty for something he did to protect his child), when he carries on talking.

"I went with him to meet his boss. I just thought if I could find out what it was they were moving, I could make a piece of furniture it could be concealed with and then forget about the whole thing. I should have known better, I know, but I wasn't thinking straight. All I could think of was the fact Roland could get hurt, and knowing Killian's boss like I do, it was a risk I just wasn't willing to take."

"Wait, you know who he works for?"

"I had a sneaking suspicion it would be the same man that started Killian on this path in the first place. His name is Jonathan Prince. The nastiest son-of-a-bitch I've had the misfortune to meet ... and he's Roland's uncle."

She feels her eyes widen, then scrunches her face into a scowl. "Hold on, back up for a second, you've lost me."

"Jonathan is Marian's big brother. I met them during my second year at university. Marian was kind, and sweet, and funny, but Jonathan had a fearsome reputation ... they hadn't been brought up with the nicest of families. When Marian and I started going out, Killian met Jonathan, and dropped out of Oxford almost immediately. He started doing odd jobs, earning Jonathan's trust, he said, then before I knew it he was a fully fledged criminal.

"I made it until the end of my second year studying business finance when Jonathan finally tried coercing me into joining their little band of Merry Men, and I tried, I wanted to say no, but ..."

"But what?" She says, voice almost a whisper. She's stopped writing again, too engrossed in his story.

"He told me if I didn't I'd never see Marian again, so ... I never went back to finish my degree."

"How old were you?"

"I was twenty when I started working for Jonathan."

She arches an eyebrow. "Working?"

Robin purses his lips, grinds his jaw slightly then sighs. "Well ... I guess one can't refer to it as working. I found I have a talent for theft, shall we say."

"But you don't have a criminal record ... in fact, apart from one incident in '98 where you were questioned by police, you don't have so much as a parking ticket. How can you have worked for one of London's most notorious crime bosses without getting caught even once?"

His lips twitch with a smirk. "I got very good at it."

"Clearly," she says, almost impressed. "So explain something to me ... you drop out of Oxford at twenty, work for Jonathan for what I'm guessing was two years, and then for some reason, you fall off the radar. Bank accounts closed, passport not renewed, you move from London, and you don't appear again until ... 2007, where you inherited a large sum of money when your father passed away and set up your business with John Little."

"You really have done your homework, haven't you?" He chuckles, then says, "what is it you'd like to know?"

She grins, says, "I like to be thorough. What I'd like to know is ... where were you? What happened during those nine years you were MIA?"

"Honestly? Nothing interesting. I moved to my granddads cottage in Yorkshire, he taught me how to build furniture, used to pay me cash. I was twenty-two when I left, and at a point where I either needed to get out of that life or it would consume me."

"What was it that made you decide to leave?"

She's not asking because she needs to know, it isn't exactly relevant to this case. She's asking because she wants to know, wants to find out everything about him, wants to know if he's close to his grandfather, if Yorkshire really does look like how it looks in Downton Abbey, and the longer she stares into his eyes, the more she wants to find out. It's dangerous, and crazy, she knows from the way her heart is beating that this man has the ability to ruin her, but there's a tiny voice in her head that's daring her to test that theory.

This is absurd.

"I left because of Marian." That surprises her. "She was quite ... easily lead ... and about eighteen months after I met her, I found out she was ... quite heavily involved in the drug scene. Dealing, using ... she told me it was something she'd dipped in and out of since her teens, and that I'd just happened to have met her during a period she was clean."

He's wincing as he talks, as though he doesn't want Regina to think ill of her, this Marian, and truthfully, she doesn't. She knows that the black and white facts don't always give you the full picture, so she stays quiet, lets him continue the tale of his life that has so quickly enthralled her.

"But you had Roland with her?"

He smiles, it reaches his eyes, deepens his dimples and she can't stop herself smiling back. "We met up a few times after I moved back, just to catch up as friends ... she was clean, as far as I knew she hadn't seen Jonathan in a while. She'd really turned her life around. I was very proud of her. I didn't see her for months, then we bumped into each other during a christmas party, and ... one thing lead to another. Hey presto, ten weeks later, she turned up on my doorstep announcing she was pregnant."

_Ah_, she breathes, lets out a chuckle at the same time he does. "We were both very excited, but we never got back together. There was just too much water under the bridge by that point." He sighs heavily, then suddenly looks very sad. "I thought she was in a good place ... she seemed to take to motherhood like a duck to water after Roland arrived, and then ... three weeks later she took an overdose."

The revelation shocks her, and as she mutters her apologises, he shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and says, "it's not me I feel sorry for. It's Roland."

"Well sure, he'll never know her."

He grimaces. "It's not that ... god knows I loved Marian, and she would have been a fantastic mother, had she been given the chance. But ... I just ... I'm almost glad he doesn't have to grow up with any connection to her side of the family. I don't know, I think perhaps I feel more sorry he's growing up without a mother, rather than without her specifically. Does that sound awful?"

"No," she says, means it too, "it's not awful. It's human. You're a father, you're always going to want to protect him. Cutting ties with people who could harm him is perfectly logical. Does Jonathan know about Roland?"

Robin nods. "He's tried to see him a few times, but I've never agreed, and thankfully he's never pressed the matter. I believe Marian made it clear she didn't want Jonathan involved before she passed ... it seems he's been respecting her wishes."

They go quiet for a moment. A moment in which Regina realises they've gone off track again, and she scolds herself for not doing her job properly. She swings it back, asks him again to tell her what happened after he met Killian, but she knows the rest from his case file. She knows they went to Barnsbury Wood, he tells her that after an outburst in which Killian said he was frightened for his life, he pushed a gun into Robins hand - that's where his prints have come from, then - and said to keep it for protection, in case their deal went south, in case Jonathan really did keep his word and come after Roland, and they waited for a good few hours before finally he finally convinced Killian to let him go home. Jonathan never showed up, Killian left the woods to track him down, and Robin disposed of the gun in a dumpster he passed when leaving, then went straight home to bed. "The next thing I knew, it was 5AM and I was being arrested for murdering Liam."

She writes furiously, ignoring the dull ache in her hand and hoping her penmanship will be legible later when she types all this up. He tells her more. Liam was Killian's big brother, despised his siblings lifestyle, made no secret of his hatred for Jonathan Prince, and Robin hadn't seen him in over ten years.

Regina connects the rest of the dots from the facts. Whoever killed Liam Jones knew Robin would be in the woods, knew he would have handled the gun, would have known Killian wasn't around ... all three of those things pointed to one person; Jonathan Prince.

"Why do you think Jonathan wanted Liam dead?"

"I can only hazard a guess that perhaps he was finally getting through to Killian. I doubt Jonathan would be crazy about anyone that was taking away the man he gets to do all his dirty work."

"But why frame you for it?"

"I wish I could say I don't know, but honestly? I'm afraid he wants Roland. If I was jailed, he is Roland's only living blood relative."

"That doesn't mean anything though. If he doesn't have legal guardianship then he wouldn't have a leg to stand on in court."

Robin grimaces once more. "I don't think that would phase him in trying to get custody, though. And what better chance would he have with me out of the picture?"

She nods, lets all the information settle in her brain and relaxes back in the chair. Gold was right, Robin's being framed, no doubt about it, but there's still one thing niggling away at her.

"Why a gun?" She asks, then explains her question after his _hmm?_ "I mean, of all the murder weapons to use, why that one? Hand guns are illegal in this country ... it would have been far easier to go with blunt force trauma, surely?"

"The detective showed me photographs of Liam's body, said the bullet went straight through his aorta. He would have used a gun because there are only two people I know of that can make a shot like that. One is him. The other is me."

"You shoot?" She asks. Another surprise.

"My family was from old money, I grew up hunting with my dad and grandfather. My aim is impeccable, and that's no secret. Everyone in that 'community' knows how good a shot I am."

Now it makes sense. "He definitely wanted to make sure you went down for it."

"Yes. And so far, he's doing a damn good job."

She finishes up not too long after, tells him to be ready for two medical examinations tomorrow morning, (mandatory, if he wants bail), then asks for Mulan's address - a side street, above her tattoo parlor in Shoreditch, he tells her. She wants to get a head start on the character witnesses she knows Gold will inevitably put her in charge of, assuming the team falls back into their old routine.

He stands when she does, moves to shake her hand, but doesn't let go once they're grasped together.

"I can't thank you enough for all this, Regina."

"Thank me when you're cleared of all charges," she smiles, grips his hand tighter. His skin is calloused, she guesses from working with his hands, his grip firm against her down, and for half a second, his thumb strokes the back of her hand.

"Do you really think that's possible?"

The smile she wears turns into an arrogant smirk, one she wears proudly, and she replies, "You can relax, Robin. I don't lose."


	4. Chapter 4

She decides to brave the tube to Shoreditch. A black cab won't cost her loads - she's never really been massively frugal, she doesn't need to be, not on her salary - but she thinks if she constantly takes taxis everywhere the cost will soon mount up, and with the Oyster card Robin told her to get, the tube definitely seems like the best way not to eat through her cash.

The underground is both confusing and familiar. It's the one place she's found in London that actually reminds her of home, because really, how different is the subway system she's used to from the tunnels that run deep under the English capital? Still, it's a little daunting, because she hasn't actually got a clue how to get her head around the zones or the lines, and what ticket does she have to purchase in order to get from Caledonian Road & Barnsbury (which is the nearest station she's found to Pentoville) to the heart of East London? She stands, kind of helpless, at the ticket station praying she doesn't look like a tourist who has no idea what she's doing, (even though she is a tourist who has no idea what she's doing).

When she finally figures it out - she has to get the overground to Angel station, followed by the underground on the Northern Line to Old Street, both of which are in Zone One - the journey goes without incident. Her feet hurt as she stands, and she grips a sweaty hand on the bar above her head to stop herself from falling as the tube rattles along the tracks (she quickly learns that the underground is like a sauna regardless of how much cooler she finds the UK). She wishes she'd opted for her boots rather than her black patent mary-jane's when she'd gotten dressed, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other as best she can sardined in a train car that is fit to burst. She's squashed between two girls, one showing the other a stream of texts on her cell; Regina presumes they're from a boy from the highly annoying giggles filling the otherwise silent carriage. They are young, no older then fifteen, and they remind her of Mary Margaret and Ruby, of all the times she would be subjected to listening to how amazing, and funny, and _charming_ David was when her dear step-sister first met her husband in junior high. She rolls her eyes at all the memories of the worlds most nauseating couple, but can't stop the small smile that twitches in the corners of her lips.

She's pretty sure she sticks out like a sore thumb when she gets off the train and strolls her way through the streets of East London. This place is quirky, has graffiti and old buildings and art everywhere, stores hidden down back alleys, and she's pretty sure she passes what looks like a shopping mall made entirely out of shipping containers. The buildings are all old meets new, the streets awash with people of every nationality and culture and age, all wearing clothes that pop with colour, all donning hairstyles with non-conformist attitudes, and it may well be the middle of a lazy Sunday afternoon, but these streets are alive with music and the arts. It is fascinating.

Regina is dressed in a black dress that hugs her figure, has teamed it with her very favourite Louboutins and a suit jacket that's keeping her warm (she's still cold, misses the heatwave she left behind in Boston despite doing nothing but bitch about it when she was back there, but she thinks maybe her temperature has more to do with the fact she's running on next to no sleep rather than the weather).

She decides she definitely sticks out like a sore thumb. It makes her feel uneasy, and in true 'Regina Mills' style, in turn makes her raise her chin high, walk with a little more swag then necessary, and pointedly ignore any looks she's getting as she searches for Mulan's tattoo parlor.

It sits down a side street, between two large buildings that are so close together, she wonders how on earth a car would even fit down this little road. It's a heavy black door, has no windows, and the only reason she knows she's in the right place is because of the little plaque that sits next to the knocker - Warrior Ink - it reads, and she grounds her feet as she pushes the door with all her mite.

When she enters, two things hit her senses; the noise and the smell.

She has never in her life been inside a tattoo place, never felt the need personally, and the sound of a buzzing needle that meets her ears reminds her of a dentist. The room smells strongly of antiseptic, something she's sure is appreciated by customers on the receiving end of getting inked, but it makes her feel sick.

Her eyes graze the room, the walls are plastered with drawings and photographs of various body parts, and while tattoos have never really been her thing, she can definitely appreciate the artistry behind them. The guy currently tattooing someone - an older man practically covered in pictures with headphones in who looks like he's asleep - is lost in concentration, and a small head bop along to the heavy rock music blaring out the radio.

"Be right with you, sister," he calls, and immediately Regina feels herself smile.

"Take your time," she says, then grins when he looks back up, stops what he's doing and walks over to the desk she's standing in front of.

"Fellow Yank huh? What can I do for you?"

She chuckles. "I'm actually looking for the owner, Mulan?"

"She isn't working today, and she's pretty booked solid for the next few weeks, so if you wanted-"

"Oh, no, I'm not here to get a tattoo. I'm an attorney. I just need to speak with her, I know this is her home address too, isn't it?"

He looks stumped, then very curious for a second before nodding then shouting, "MULAN!" at the very top of his voice through an open doorway behind reception.

"You know you should re-think the ink, sister. You'd suit it." She smiles, breathes out a chuckle as he goes back to his work, and a not a moment later she's greeted again.

The woman before her is _beautiful_. She has a perfect complexion, flawless skin that's covered in beautiful tattoos (they suit her, would look ugly on anyone else), long dark hair that only accentuates her delicate features, and suddenly, Regina wishes she'd come when she hadn't been awake for more than twenty-four hours and had a hairbrush in her bag, wishes she'd worked harder to hide the scar on her lip this morning. This woman makes her feel insecure, which she hates.

"Hey, can I help you?" Mulan asks with a smile, and oh god she's even more stunning, and she hates her even more now, hates that this woman is making her feel self-conscious by just looking like she does and _being nice_. This is Robin's oldest friend, who just so happens to be watching his son at a time he's in desperate need. Friend indeed. If he isn't sleeping with this woman, then she'll eat her own arm.

She's not jealous, of course. Not at all, she tells herself, but even she doesn't believe her own lies this time. She's jealous, of Mulan and her closeness to Robin (absurd, because Regina does not know Robin, shouldn't want to know Robin), and the fact she's just ridiculously beautiful does not help.

"My name is Regina Mills, I'm Robin Locksley's attorney, I just wondered-"

"Oh, thank god!" She says, hurries towards Regina and reaches to shake her hand. "I've been worried sick, I haven't had a clue what to tell Roland. How long do you think it will be before he's out? He mentioned getting bail when he called, but I haven't heard anything since, and Mr Gold hasn't been helpful at all whenever I've gotten in touch, and-"

Regina sighs inwardly. Definitely the girlfriend.

"Mr Gold has arranged for Robin to be seen by a judge for bail tomorrow. If all goes well in court, he'll be out by the afternoon." Mulan lets out a huge sigh of relief, so she continues, ignores the petty side of herself that's still irritated that he has a girlfriend, (and honestly, _why does that bother her so much?!_) "Is there a place we could go and talk?"

Mulan leads her through the door from which she's jut emerged, up a flight of steep stairs that creak with every step. They're greeted with another door when they reach the top. Regina watches as Mulan twists her keys to the right then shoves the door with her shoulder; the wood gives a groan, and she tries again, throws a frustrated smile over to Regina and tells her, it sticks, then with one more forceful shove and a bang of a noise, they're in.

"Come through," Mulan says, jumping over a large box, one of many cluttering the tiny hallway of her apartment. Regina steps over it gingerly, wobbling a little on her heels as she goes, has to steady herself by flattening a palm to the wall. The room she's being lead to doesn't have a door, is separated from the hall with a curtain of purple beads that hang to the floor, clinking together when they're disturbed. They make her scrunch her eyes as she steps through, make her have to comb her fingers through her hair after she's reached the other side to untangle a few of the beads from her dark locks.

"Please, take a seat," Mulan tells her, gesturing to the couch that sits in the corner of the front room. It's old, black cracked leather, covered in an assortment of multi-coloured throws and one tiny cushion with a Buddha stitched to the front. Regina nods, smiles briefly then slowly lowers herself down onto the seats edge, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she sits. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Mulan asks, taking the seat next to her, sitting right back and curling her legs up to get comfy. Regina shakes her head, politely declines the offer then lets her eyes graze over the tiny apartment.

There's a small TV opposite them. It's old, has a glass screen and a boxy exterior with an out-of-shape arial that's hanging off the curtain hooks that frame the window it sits beside. It's next to a small fireplace, an honest to god wood burner that's caged in by a black fireguard (the only inkling that there may be a small child around). The mantel around it is painted lilac, has an array of different candles dotted along the top, underneath a large, ornate frame housing a beautiful black and white photograph of Mulan, and a woman who, from the way they're cuddled up next to each other, is quite clearly her girlfriend.

Well now she feels stupid.

"This is quite the place you've got here. Have you only just moved in?" She asks, gestures towards yet more boxes stacked by the side of the TV. Mulan follows her eyes, looks for a second like she doesn't understand what Regina means, then rolls her eyes at the storage she has on show.

"Oh, that. No, I've lived here for years, Aurora moved in a few months ago. I keep telling her to finish unpacking, but ... it falls on deaf ears."

Regina breathes out a huff of a chuckle, then says, "I don't think I blame her. I hate unpacking."

Mulan smiles back for a second, then lets her face turn serious. "So ... Robin," she starts with a sigh. "You know he's innocent, don't you?"

"I do," she assures, "and I promise I'm going to do everything in my power to see that he gets cleared of all charges, but it isn't going to be easy. The prosecution have a murder weapon with his prints on it and footage of him exiting the woods around the estimated time of Liam's death."

"You think he could go down for this?" she asks quietly, gravely, like she's only just beginning to understand the magnitude of what that could really mean.

"Not without one hell of a fight from me. You can trust me, Mulan, I'm too stubborn not to get my own way," she says, a little light heartedly, but it seems Mulan appreciates the gentle humour, because she smiles warmly.

"Is there anything I can do to help him?"

"Actually, your help is why I'm here. Given all the evidence the prosecutors have, we're going to need to build Robin's defense on his character. The jury will need to see that he isn't a killer, and a way for us to do that is have people testify for him. They're called character witnesses."

"What would I have to do?" Mulan asks, doesn't so much as question the idea of standing for Robin.

"Vouch for him. It would be your job to attest to Robin's reputation, to his good nature. We have to make the jury see beyond the black and white evidence in a case like this."

"You mean we have to try and make them doubt his motive for killing Liam?"

"Robin has no motive for killing Liam, which is crucial in his defense. If we can plant a seed of doubt in even one jury members mind that Robin didn't do it, then we have a good shot at clearing his name ... but only if we can gather enough people together to stand for him."

"I'll do it," she says, firmly, without hesitation. "I'll call round everyone for help ... we need Robin back. We're a family ... we're not complete without him."

She's about to thank her, about to breathe a sigh of relief that Robin has a good circle of loyal people in his life when a bang from the hallway halts her. It's the front door, she recognises the sound of the clatter as whoever it is pushes through, the jangle of keys, then the second bang as it's forced shut.

"Only us!" A voice shouts. It's soft, feminine, and Regina can hear a sultry accent - french, she thinks - roll off this woman's tongue as she talks quietly to a second person in the hall. _Pass me your coat_, then,_ good boy_, and then suddenly, the purple beads that separate them all shift, and a small boy jumps through.

"We're home!" He shouts, voice full of glee, then stops in his tracks, schools his expression the second his eyes fall on her. He's a tiny little thing, a mop of dark curls on his head that she would usually think too long, but somehow on this boy they look just right. If she didn't know Roland Locksley was staying with Mulan, she would never have guessed this boy to be Robin's. They look nothing alike.

Until he presses his lips together - an act of shyness, Henry used to do the same - and then she sees them, the dimples etching into his little features and she can't help but smile widely and think, ah, there he is.

A woman she recognises as Mulan's partner, Aurora, steps in just behind him, looks down at Regina in surprise then over to Mulan, who introduces them with ease. Regina stands, shakes her hand politely then lets her gaze fall down to Roland. He's quiet, looking at her with what she thinks is a mixture of fascination and caution - who is this new, strange lady standing in his auntie's living room?

She crouches down to his level slowly, because he looks like a deer caught in headlights, and says, "hello, my name is Regina. You must be Roland."

He doesn't move, doesn't speak, looks over to Mulan in surprise that she knows his name, and it's only when his godmother nods encouragingly does he give a small nod - though it's hidden behind his hands, which are up to his face, fingers being gnawed at nervously in his mouth.

"Your aunt has told me lots about you, so has your daddy," she offers kindly, and his eyes widen.

"You know my daddy?" He asks, awestruck, and brings his hands down to his belly.

"I do."

"You talk funny," he says, gets scolded immediately by Aurora from the kitchen, then dips his head and mutters a sorry. Regina laughs, she can't help it, tells him she thinks he talks funny too, and that earns her a giggle.

"Your daddy told me you're starting school soon."

He must feel more confident now, because at the mention of school his arms drop to his side, his chest puffs out, and his chin rises just a little. "Daddy says I start school when I'm four. And that's soon, I think."

"Can you remember how many days we counted until your birthday earlier, bud?" Mulan asks from the couch. His scrunches as he tries to remember, breathes out a _mmm_, then looks over at her as his shoulders sag in defeat.

Regina follows Mulan's eyes to a calendar pinned to the wall on her left, sitting opposite the breakfast bar that separates their tiny living area from their equally tiny kitchen. She stands, ignores the clicks of her knees as she goes, then spies the date scribbled with a note of _Roland - 4th birthday_, in neat handwriting on the 30th August. Roland leans to see what she's looking at, then steps forward, once, twice, until he's standing right next to her and craning his neck.

"Shall me and you count how many sleeps it is until you're birthday?" Regina offers. He considers it for a moment, then nods firmly, reaching up with his arms for her to lift and sit him on her hip. He's light, and fits just nicely in her hold, and oh how she wishes Henry were still this small. Regina points to today - Sunday, then counts, smiles when he joins in with a one, two, three, four, five, six.

"Six sleeps!" He says happily, looks at her with big doe eyes that make her womb ache and my god, as if his dad wasn't bad enough, now this kid is making her go crazy too?

"Six sleeps!" She echoes, excitedly. "That isn't long at all, is it? Then you'll be a big boy starting school."

"Are you friends with my daddy?" He asks, quite quickly forgetting what she has just said.

"I am."

"He isn't here. He had to go away for, erm, a little bit, but Mulan said he'll be back soon." His words are quiet, he looks at her like he's informing her, like she wouldn't already know that Robin wasn't there, and it warms her heart that he's so well spoken for a three year old.

"Oh, well, in that case," she says, sets him back down to the floor and smiles - he barely reaches her hip - "I'd probably better get going if he's not here."

"Are you going home now?" He asks.

"I'm afraid so, little guy. But I'll come and see you again really soon, okay?"

Roland nods happily, then skips over to the kitchen as Mulan gets up. Regina says her farewells, gives Mulan her card and says she'll be in touch. As she leaves, walks the narrow streets of London to find her way back to the tube, she feels the weight of this case, the responsibility of Robin's life in her hands weigh her down. It's more so than before, (as if that weren't enough), because now she's met his son, seen what a sweet, funny little boy Robin has raised all by himself, and the notion that he won't get to watch Roland grow up because he's stuck behind bars for a crime he hasn't committed is now somehow inconceivable to Regina.

She gets the tube back to her hotel, feels a sense of accomplishment that she only (nearly) got on the wrong train once, and knuckles down for the rest of the night. Gold has promised her they'll get Robin in front of a judge tomorrow, and she'll go without sleep all night if she has to, if only to make sure she gets him back home to his child.

-§-

It takes four pushes of the snooze on her alarm to get her up the next morning. Her eyes are glued together, exhaustion from the past two days finally catching up, and the need to curl further under the soft, white sheets of her bed and stay there is so strong, she genuinely tries to think of a way she can put off the allotted time slot Gold has managed to acquire with the judge ... if only for a few hours.

Then she thinks of him, Robin. What's he's doing, whether he's awake (he'll be awake, probably won't have slept), whether he's eaten yet and if his medicals went okay. He passed them, must have, because she'd have heard by now if the doctors didn't think he was stable enough for release.

She drags herself to the shower, lets her heavy lids fall shut once more when the steaming water from the faucet rinses her skin, probably stays there a little too long, because when it comes to breakfast, she has to rush. Not that she has to stomach for much today. She's feeling unsettlingly nervous, not at all like she usually does when going into a courtroom, and she tells herself it's probably just because it's been over a year since she was in that environment. She picks at her food - eggs and a few rations of bacon (which she leaves, because English bacon tastes weird, she decides) - drops a text to Mel, who tells her it'll just be her and Gold today because he has the others on something else.

She wants to call Henry, and her sisters, wants to tell them she misses them even though she's only been gone a day. She can't, because it's still the middle of the night for them, and a strange kind of loneliness settles on her heart as she looks around the dining area of her hotel. There's a few business men, also eating alone, a group of woman howling with raucous laughter to her right (it's far too early for that, makes her grind her teeth in frustration), some couples, a little family - for the first time they make her feel like maybe she was a little hasty by coming here.

She gets a taxi to Gold's office - it's only in Chelsea, not too far from her hotel, she could walk it but quite frankly, she cannot be bothered, has yet to find it, and could really do without starting her day by getting lost. The driver talks her ear off, makes her wish she _had _walked, asks for her life story then offers his when she skirts round his questions, and when he pulls to a stop, tells her they've arrived, she frowns because once again, they're not in a place she would imagine someone's office to be.

The building is actually quite beautiful. Three stories high, sandwiched between identical structures, and if it weren't for the fact a pretty dark haired girl has come out to greet her, Regina would have turned and told the driver off for bringing her to the wrong place. It looks like a terrace house; quintessentially British, with large white windows and thick stone steps leading up to its door.

"Hi," the girl smiles brightly, offers her hand which Regina takes briefly. "You must be Regina," she says letting the accent roll off her tongue, which makes Regina almost smirk because so far she's been in the country twenty four hours and she's probably met more foreign people than British ones. Then again, she's in London, and it's like New York, home to every nationality possible. This woman sounds Australian. "My name is Belle. It's nice to meet you."

"You too," she says, follows her into the building and into a reception room that is vacant bar one other person.

"Miss Mills, how lovely to finally see you."

"Gold." Regina says his name through somewhat gritted teeth. She didn't think the sight of him after so long would make her quite so angry, quite so quickly, but she can feel the rage bubbling up inside her, has to take a deep breath and swallow it down before she does something, says something she'll live to regret. Think of Robin, do this for him, she tells herself, because getting fired on the first day won't help anyone.

"I see you've met my wife, Belle," he says, smiling past Regina to the girl who saw her in. Her eyes widen before she can stop them, and from his smirk, she knows the surprise on her face isn't tactful.

"You got married?"

Belle smiles, moves to stand next to Gold and wrap her arms around his middle. "Two months ago."

Regina nods, mouth slightly agape. It's all she can do while she processes the information, and maybe that was what Lennie meant when she asked her outside the library last month if she'd heard of Gold's big news. He got married, and to someone, as far as Regina can see, is way out of his league. This new information annoys her, makes the question of 'well if he can find someone, why the hell can't I?' Flit through her mind. It's gone a second later, when she remembers she's actually grown very used to her single life, and isn't exactly sure she wants to part from it, should that occasion ever arise. "Congratulations," she says, clearing her throat then giving the couple a small smile.

She watches as Gold pecks his new bride goodbye, attempts to stop her face from scrunching into a frown because seeing this man as someone's husband is down right weird to her, and then they're off.

He catches her up while they're in another taxi on their way to the Supreme Court, tells her he's got Lennie and Mel trying to find the whereabouts of Killian Jones. He tells her the police have been after him (since really, he's Robin's only alibi), and have been unable to locate where he went after he left Barnsbury Wood.

"What about Jeff?" She asks, doesn't bother hiding the coldness in her voice. Gold knows she can't bear that man.

"I've got him finding out as much about Jonathan Prince as he can."

Regina nods curtly, turns her attention to the car window and watches the world go by.

-§-

She needn't have been nervous about their strategies in court, because later, when they're setting up and Robin is being walked in with a police escort, she and Gold have settled into a routine so old she's lost count of how many times they went through it.

He's in a suit; dark blue with a crisp white shirt and a thin black tie. He looks good ... too good, and if she weren't in professional work mode, her mind might just wander to other, more explicit places.

"How are you feeling?" She asks Robin as he sits, glances a look over to Gold, who is in deep conversation with the Judge across the room.

"Honestly, I've been better. I'll be fine once this is over with." He looks tired, like he hasn't slept a wink, and it takes all her mite not to touch him, his shoulder, his hand, wherever, anything to silently tell him she understands, that she's here for him.

She nods at him instead, offers a small smile, but before she can say anything else, the door to the court opens and pulls her attention. Mulan, along with two men she doesn't know walk in. Robin smiles at them from his seat, gives them a gentle wave, which all three return without hesitation. Regina nods at Mulan, briefly wonders where Roland is, thinks he must be with Aurora, then finds her attention pulled again when the doors open once more.

The man that walks through is striding with purpose, tall, slicked back hair and a smirk on his face that makes Regina instantly take a disliking. He walks the length of the room, throws his eyes round to every person, then lets them settle on Robin while he gets closer. Regina purses her lips, stands a little taller as he slams his briefcase down on the desk next to their with a thud. Gold makes his way over, looks between them all then offers the man, the prosecutor she guesses, a hand and a sly smile.

"Keith," he says as they shake.

"Mr Gold, how wonderful to see you." His words are drowning in sarcasm, something Gold doesn't seem to miss, but chooses to ignore anyway.

He points over to Regina and introduces them, "Regina Mills, Keith Knotts."

She doesn't shake his hand, angles her body closer to Robin, and gives him a tight smile because it's what's expected, not because she means it, dislikes him even more when he says, "bringing in the cavalry, Gold? Are you really that confident you'll lose? Because you will."

She feels both Robin and Gold tense either side of her, sends a glare Keith's way and snaps, "you might end up wishing you brought a little back up yourself. I'd hate for you to be alone when I roast you later."

He smirks at her response. "Oh I don't know ... I don't think I'd mind getting a roasting from you, sweetheart."

Robin is on his feet in seconds, Keith's sleazy words having obviously bothered more then just her, and Regina has to press her hand to his chest in order to stop him doing something he'll regret. She breathes out an _it's okay_, tells him to sit and calm down as Keith swans over to the judge.

"Is he any good?" She asks Gold quietly, both of them glaring at the smug son-of-a-bitch from across the room.

Gold gives a curt nod. "He is good ... but I'm better."

The formalities of granting bail get underway. Robin does as he's been told, stays silent, looks forward, schools his expression whenever his 'crimes' are mentioned, and while the Judge - a one Mr George King - drones on with his legal jargon, Regina finds herself throwing glances his way. He's tense, and she's close enough to see a strain in his neck, one she thinks she could soothe with a kneading of her thumbs given the opportunity, an image she's forced to shake from her mind quickly when Keith's voice suddenly fills the otherwise silent court.

"Your honour, in light of the gruesome death of Mr Jones, the evidence that Mr Locksley's finger prints have been found on a gun matching the description of the one used to commit the crime, and the CCTV footage showing the accused leaving the crime scene, it is of the recommendation of the prosecution that bail be denied."

King nods, looks down at his hands then clears his throat. When he next looks up, it's at Gold, who is staring right back with a look Regina has seen many times. It's a look that says _you owe me_, and suddenly, she's angry that he would jeopardize Robin's case by attempting to blackmail the judge. "Councilor?" King says. "Anything to add?"

Gold is about to get up, about to say his piece when Regina throws a hand over his arm, halts his movements and stands up herself. She ignores Gold's questioning gaze, ignores Robin's deep frown, takes a deep breath and stares King straight in the eyes.

"You honour, my client is a law abiding citizen, this is his first alleged offense and the evidence the prosecution has is circumstantial at best, it does nothing to prove my client was involved. He has been more than cooperative with detectives regarding the crime in question, not to mention the fact that the victim was his friend. No one wants to find Liam Jones killer more than Mr Locksley does, and I have no doubt that he will continue to help police in their investigation as best he can, but he doesn't have to be detained to do so." She takes another deep breath, then glances down at Robin, who's looking back up into her eyes wearing an expression she can't quite place.

"He's not a flight risk, has already agreed to hand over his passport, and agreed to check in with Pentonville on a weekly basis as part of his bail conditions. Your honour, my client is a good man ... he's a single father to a little boy who starts school next week and owns his own business. Mr Locksley has passed both medical examinations required for bail and in the opinion of the defense is absolutely not a risk to himself or others. In light of everything, your honour, in light of the fact that my client will be spending the weeks leading up to his trial with his son, we request that bail be granted."

Regina holds her breath. She had to say something, couldn't leave it in Gold's hands to get Robin out of this, because even if she does know he's good at his job, she just doesn't trust him. She preys her words have been enough (and perhaps doesn't feel quite so angry that Gold has something over on the judge, because how she feels right now, she'll quite happily blackmail this man too), and waits for the verdict.

It comes quickly, quicker than she expected, and when King speaks again, he avoids Keith's eyes entirely.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Miss Mills." Regina lets out a breath she realises she's been holding since yesterday.

Keith is on his feet immediately. "Your honour-"

"Mr Knotts, in my opinion your council has failed to establish sufficient evidence in order for me to detain Mr Locksley. I don't have a choice but to grant bail in the amo-"

"Your honour," Keith pleads, "I implore you to remand-"

"Enough, Mr Knotts. Bail will be granted in the amount of fifteen thousand pounds."

Regina feels a smile of victory spring onto her face, looks down at Robin who looks absolutely relieved, is wearing a smile that reaches up to his eyes and makes her beam even more. This is where the hard work starts, she knows that, but getting him out of prison is the first step, and makes her so happy she thinks she'll be smiling for the rest of the day now. She throws a vindictive grin over to Keith, who looks furious, then sits back down in order for the court to be wrapped up.

They tell Robin a while later, after the formalities are done with and the judge has left, to go outside and see his friends. Mulan and the others left a little while ago, but somehow Regina knows they'll be waiting for him outside. He nods, leaves quickly, and as she gathers up her belongings - notes, her laptop - Keith stomps over wearing an expression that's dark and glowering. Gold is on the phone, to Mel, she thinks, not taking any notice that this bastard is up in her face and seething. Not that she can't hold her own. She used to work in the bar on campus during her first year at Harvard, and if she can handle a gang of drunken idiots in their early twenties looking to sleep with anything with a pulse, then she can certainly handle one bitter lawyer looking for a cheap shot.

"I don't know who you fucked to make sure he was bailed, but let me tell you right now, you're going down when his trial comes round."

"Well aren't you professional," she says with a sarcastic smile. "Watch your mouth, Knotts, I'd hate for that tongue of yours to get you into to trouble one day."

"That sounds like a threat," he says, which she finds funny, considering he's just done the exact same thing.

"Think of it as ... a bit of advice between colleagues."

He glares at her, but she holds her own, glares right back, then watches as he turns on his heel and stalks off.

Gold joins her a second later, tells her she's done well, to enjoy the rest of her day, and he'll be in touch tomorrow in regards to their next steps. She sighs contently as she moves to leave the court, wonders briefly what she could do with herself for the rest of the day, and feels nothing but pride at her win. Today has been a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but it's been her first since Sidney Glass, so she'll take it as a boost to her self-esteem. Maybe she'll call Emma when she gets back to the hotel, tell her sister all about the case now she's learned more about Robin. Besides, it would be nice to hear a familiar voice.

When she leaves the courtroom and enters the grand reception of the building, she's greeted with a sight that warms her heart. Aurora, it seems, has been waiting out here with Roland in toe (Regina won't think about what could have happened if Robin hadn't been let out), and the smile on her face only widens as she watches father and son reunite.

Little Roland has a beam on his face, a squealing giggle erupting from his throat as Robin twirls him round. He's holding his son in the air, above his head; tilting his little body so Roland looks like a miniature, long haired version of superman. The light in his eyes warms her heart, and once again, she is filled with relief that her skills to manipulate a court room have paid off.

She watches them for a moment, watches him, surrounded by people she can only assume are his friends. Mulan and Aurora are both there, along with a big guy who has long, curly hair, and another who is completely bald, circling him in the way only a family, a bunch of tight-knit people could, and in that instant she sees Mulan was right ... Robin really does complete them.

A strange, intense emotion falls heavy on her heart as she looks away, re-jigging the clutch she has on her case. It feels a lot like longing and envy rolled into one ... over the fact he's back with his family and she's all alone in a strange country. Definitely _not_ because they're all with him and she's not.

She hears her name as she strolls away from the scene. _Regina_, and at first, she ignores it, hope whoever it is will leave her alone and let her sulk and miss her people. _Regina!_ There it is again, louder, more authoritative this time, and she sighs as she turns.

Mulan is hurrying her way, the huge smile on her face, the one that makes her look even more beautiful, coming clearer as she reaches Regina. "Where are you going?" She asks.

"Oh, I was just going-"

But before she can finish her sentence, the Asian beauty has gripped her arm and is pulling her back towards Robin and his merry little family. "You can't go, we're all going out to celebrate."

"You ... you want me to come with you?" She asks, not quite understanding, but they've reached the others now, and she's standing right next to him again. She throws a glance over towards him, wanting to make sure he's happy with this, but right now he only has eyes for the little boy resting on his hip. Warmth spreads in her belly, moves up to her heart and down between her thighs simultaneously. What is it about a man who looks good in a suit ... that's also an amazing father, that makes her body want to come apart at the seams?

"Of course we want you to come," Mulan says, voice snapping Regina from all the highly inappropriate thoughts rolling through her mind. She's looking at her like she's crazy, like it should be obvious that they want her to join them. "None of this would be possible if it weren't for you!"

She shrugs modestly, wearing a small smile, and answers, "it was a team effort, really."

"Are you kidding? We were in there, _you_ are the one who convinced that judge to give him bail."

"She's right you know," his voice says suddenly, a friendly hand coming to hold her elbow as he throws her a smile that would surely kill her on the spot if she let it. She returns it easily, (smiling around him is always easy, she's come to find), and then quite suddenly it's as if it's just the two of them. His eyes are drinking her in so intensely she almost forgets to breathe. "You were incredible in there," he says, so quietly she's not sure anyone else can hear; like his words are for her ears and her ears only.

Heat fills her face; perfect, now she's blushing. Regina presses her lips together, a pathetic attempt to bite back the grin that's making her cheeks hurt, then takes a deep breath in to compose herself. A glimmer of amusement flits through Robin's eyes, then he turns his attention back to the group. "So, where are we eating? My treat."

"Oh well in that case we should swing by the Ritz," Jon teases.

"I want the cod bites, daddy!" Roland pipes up, still giddy, she guesses, from seeing his father for the first time in a week. He places his little hands either side of Robin's face, pulls him so they're eye to eye, then turns on his charm, big dark eyes filled with hope, dimples shadowing his cheeks with a smile that honest to god, makes her womb ache. "Please, papa, please!"

Oh he is definitely Robin's child.

Robin purses his lips, turns his expression very serious for a second as he gauges his little boy. Roland waits with baited breath for his answer, and each adult watches with an amused grin because they all know Roland could ask for just about anything right now and Robin would comply. "Hmm ..." he starts, toying with the boy, who looks like he might just burst with impatience. "Cod bites it is." Roland yells out a whoop, then wriggles to get out of Robin's arms.

They all turn, move to exit the courthouse. She follows, is utterly clueless as to where they're about to go for food, walking in step with Robin out into the streets of London. They're silent as they go; he's wearing a happy smile, watching his son hang with each hand off Tuck and Jon, who can swing him so high yet more squeals of delight are yelled. The sun is still high in a perfect blue sky. It's warmer today than yesterday - no where near the heatwave she left behind in Boston, but still, warm. Warm enough to make her wish she'd left the suit jacket she's sporting back at the hotel.

"So ... where exactly are we going?" She asks, eventually breaking the comfortable silence that's fallen between them.

"Oh, it's a Japanese restaurant. There's a few of them dotted around London, but Roland really likes it there, and it's not massively expensive. It's called Wagamama's."

She stops in her tracks. "You guys have Wagamama's here?!"

"You've been there before then, I take it," he replies with a deep chuckle as she gets over her shock and continues following the others.

"There's one a few blocks from my apartment. Henry _loves_ it there," she says with a smile, genuinely beginning to feel just as excited as Roland is. Her nephew isn't the only one who loves it there.

"Henry?"

"My nephew," she says, a warmth filling her heart alongside a yearning to see him. They're walking closer together now, the sidewalk they're on has narrowed considerably, and every now and then, their shoulders bump. She throws the strap of her case over her shoulder, then crosses her arms over her body for fear that her hand might brush against his. He's already seen her blush once today, no way will she let him see her shiver at his touch (because if he touches her - even accidentally - she will definitely shiver).

"Are you close with him? Henry?" He asks, seeming genuinely interested, and once again, an item off this imaginary check list of the perfect man in her head is ticked off. He's asking about her nephew, not out of obligation, not because he's trying to make small talk, but because he actually wants to know. Someone kill her now.

She smiles with a nod. "I raised him until he was six, still see him pretty much everyday."

"Well aren't you a good sister! How did that end up happening?" He asks.

She hasn't got a clue where they are now, has just been walking in sync with Robin without taking in so much as what's in front of her. The court room is completely out of sight, the others a little way ahead of them - the streets are busier here, and John is now clutching Roland's hand tightly as they go. Robin presses his hand to the small of her back, steers her to the edge of the sidewalk, then checks to make sure the coast is clear and it's safe for them to cross. It isn't, not really, black cabs line the streets, there's a steady stream of traffic coming from either direction - she's still not used to the direction in which the British drive, keeps looking the wrong way out of habit and confusing herself.

"That's a really long story," she says, answering his earlier question. And it isn't a lie, it is a really long story, but that isn't the reason she doesn't give the details. She could quite easily condense it down, but she won't, because the fact she is so ready to tell him, so ready to open up about an area of her life that was turned upside down and inside out in the blink of an eye, terrifies her. He's a stranger, and a _client_ ... she shouldn't be telling him anything.

He nods, no longer looking at her, but continuously glancing back and forth between the traffic. "Well maybe you'll have time to tell me someday," he says, and she likes the fact he doesn't press her for any more information.

"I think we've lost the others," she changes the subject, gets herself out of anymore prying questions, and looks around the nameless inhabitants moving through the streets of London for John, or Mulan, but it's useless, she recognises no one.

"Oh no, it's only round that corner, but if I'm forking out for all their food, I need to check my bank balance. John isn't one to hold back when out to dinner, no matter who is footing the bill." He smiles, looks back down at her with a twinkle in his eye as his dimples deepen. She is all too aware that his hand is still pressed to the small of her back, tries to ignore the warming pressure there as he nods over the road at the row of ATM's staring at them. She sees it then, the giant rail sign stuck to the building directly in front of her, a sign reading** Victoria Station** just underneath, and as she cranes her head back round, she is met with a poster featuring a very enormous, very green woman.

They're standing outside a theatre. It's showing _Wicked_.

Regina swings her head back round; she's never been a massive fan of musicals. Henry made her watch the Wizard of Oz once, and while she sat through it for him, she's pretty sure it made her ears bleed. The fact that she's currently being eyeballed by a poster of the old, green witch she hated in that movie, for some reason fills her with an illogical irritation.

The traffic has slowed now, but not stopped, not by any means, so when Robin pushes her forward slightly, steps off the sidewalk, she finds herself leaning back, pushing against his hand because there's _no way_ they can make it across. She looks at Robin, who throws her a grin and moves his hand to take hers before pulling her into a run. They dart together, him just ahead, holding a strong grip on her hand that she matches through fear of getting run over by an manic taxi driver.

She lets out a laugh when they reach the other side, one loud horn blaring in a whirl past them, and he laughs with her - doesn't let go of her hand until they're very nearly at the free ATM, and even then, she _thinks_ he seems reluctant. That might just have been her though.

Ten minutes later, she's sitting at a bench by the window of the restaurant, her face buried in a menu trying to decide what her grumbling stomach will be satisfied with. She's sitting on the end of the bench, next to Robin, opposite Mulan, staying quiet as she listens to them all casually converse. They fill Robin in on what's happened in the week he's been 'away' - a word used only for Roland's convenience - John tells him the workshop is fine, that Robin isn't the be all and end all, and to stop being so arrogant to think it would fall apart without him there, Tuck moans that he did miss a good game on TV (she doesn't catch what sport), and then Roland speaks up. He tells his father that he still doesn't have a backpack for school, and he would very much like the Cars one he saw in Argos, and can they please go and get it right now ... (because when he spoke to daddy on the phone, he promised they could buy it as soon as he came back).

"What about your cod bites?" Robin asks, looks down at his son with a bemused smile on his face. Roland considers his question.

"After cod bites?"

"Well I think Argos may well be closed after we've eaten, mate. But, I promise hand on heart we will go tomorrow and buy you everything you need for school. How does that sound?"

"Can we get ice cream afterwards, daddy?"

Robin chuckles, ruffles his hair then kisses the top of his head. "Of course we can."

Roland seems happy with this compromise, and turns his attention back to the colouring menu Aurora picked up when they came in. They order not long after, she doesn't know why she bothered looking at the menu, because she orders what she always has, the firecracker chicken, then darts her eyes around the restaurant for the knives and forks. They have chopsticks by her side, and it makes her inwardly sigh, because she cannot for the life of her use them. Has never been able to use them, spots the table with the cutlery over the way then curses when Robin stands to retrieve some for his son. Great, just perfect, because getting a fork for Roland was going to be her excuse to pick one up for herself as well (something she usually uses Henry for, to save herself the embarrassment that she's thirty-four years old and has no idea how to eat Japanese food correctly).

When their food arrives, she simply stares at it for a second before Robin asks her quietly, "everything okay?" He leans over to cut up Roland's cod bites into smaller pieces.

She chews the inside of her cheek, desperately trying to fight the pinkness that's threatening to flush her face. "Fine," she starts, shaking her head vigorously, then catches the skepticism in his face and chuckles. "It's just ... I'm hopeless at using chopsticks. Embarrassingly so."

He grins at her. "I thought you said you eat here all the time back home?"

"I do, but I'm also always with a child so it's perfectly acceptable for me to go and pick up a knife and fork. Henry is actually pretty damn good at using the chopsticks."

Robin breathes out a quiet _ahhh_, then goes on to say, "and I beat you to the cutlery for Roland before you could sneak your own."

"You stopped my cunning ways of obtaining the only eating utensils I can use."

"See now, I refuse to believe you can't be taught how to use chopsticks," he says after a laugh, then leans over her plate to lift the sticks on her right. She cocks an eyebrow as he splits them in two with a snap, throws her a smirk then picks up her hand in his.

Her breath catches, a sly smile inching it's way across her face as he places the sticks where they should be held in her fingers, mirrors his own on top of hers so their digits are tangled together in a way that causes goosebumps to raise on her arms. She curses her bodies natural reflexes. Robin open and closes their hands carefully, then chuckles.

"See, you can do it."

When he let's go, takes his hand away along with the ease of control he has over them, the sticks snap together, make her jump, and she throws them down in a huff. "I think I'll just stick to a fork."

He let's out a laugh when she pushes herself up from the bench, then settles a hand on her shoulder. "Let me," he says, leaving his seat in order to go and get her cutlery.

She has to smile at that.

The evening goes by in a whirl. They eat and drink and laugh; Roland entertains them with babbling tales of an over-active imagination, their table is filled with his gleeful giggles whenever John holds his chopsticks under his gums and imitates a walrus, Mulan tries to remind Robin of what happened the night they met Aurora - something that makes the other adults howl with laughter and Robin bury his face in his hands. She never does find out that little tale though, because Roland saves him with an announcement that he needs the bathroom.

It's a few hours later, as they are standing on the sidewalk saying goodbyes that his manners work their way out for her benefit again. They're trying to figure out if they can all get in one cab, or whether it will just be easier to get home separately. A none issue for Aurora and Mulan, who live in the opposite direction, and jump in a taxi that drives off into the night. John and Tuck, who are both a little more than inebriated, decide to carry on their celebrations at a bar over the road, which means Regina may as well just get a cab by herself - a notion he will not hear. They'll all ride together, whether she likes it or not.

Roland is fast asleep in minutes. His head lulling against Robin's side, swaying with each turn the driver makes. She sits opposite them, father and son, smiling fondly at the way Robin looks down at his boy such an affection on his face it makes her heart swell.

"Thank you for inviting me out tonight," she says quietly, and when he looks up to meet her gaze, she doesn't think the affection leaves his eyes. "You saved me from eating pizza alone in my hotel room, so," she says, grinning.

"Honestly Regina, the pleasure was all mine. I will never be able to thank you enough for what you're doing for me. So," he says, pulls at the pen that's edging its way out the top of her bag, then reaches for her hand, begins to scribble on her skin, "should you ever feel the need for some company while you're here ... don't hesitate."

She smiles down at the cellphone number he's inked in her skin. The gesture makes her heart flutter - something she attempts to bat down, because he's only being polite, only offering her a bit of company whilst she's without any in a foreign country ... because he's honorable. And kind. Most certainly not because he's thinking about her the same way she's thinking about him.

She sighs inwardly at the rambling voices in her head - just when in the hell did they begin to sound like Mary Margaret? Too girly, too mushy, and if he makes her think like this with so much as a smile, then she's glad she'll never find out exactly how pathetic she'd turn if she ever got to actually act on the intense feelings she's been having since, well, since she first set eyes on his mug shot.

The cab pulls in front of her hotel not too long after, when she's exhausted herself with the back and forth and is seriously considering calling Archie in case she's developing a mild form of schizophrenia, and as the breaks of the taxi squeak to a halt, Robin sits forward at the exact moment she does.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" He asks as she gathers her bag. When she looks back up, his face is far closer than she expected, and she swallows with a tiny 'gulp'.

"I imagine so. Gold will probably set up meetings to start going over your case, and if he keeps me in charge of your character witnesses, then I'll need to swing by and compile a list of people we could ask to stand for you."

He nods at words, then adds, "well just text when you're on your way then. I'll rustle us up something to eat."

She smiles at that, clambers out of the cab as the doorman opens the car door for her, and says "good night, Robin."

"Good night, Regina."

She's glad for the cover of darkness now, because as he says the words, he adds a wink, and even she can't school her features fast enough to stop the blush.

_A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has followed, faved and reviewed this story so far! Writing this AU doesn't come all that naturally to me, and I'm really grateful for the support/feedback of you all! If any of you have any questions, you can find me on tumblr under htoria, don't hesitate to ask! There may well be little sneak peaks of future chapters uploaded there too :) _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: SO sorry for the delay in update. This chapter has turned into a bit of a monster. I have no beta, so please bare that in mind, any mistakes are my own. Also, in case anyone is wondering … 'Jeff' in this story is in fact Jafar, and Neal isn't Henry's dad. It just couldn't work logistically with where i'm taking the story._

* * *

><p>The next morning sees Regina standing in the reception area of Gold's office, waiting for Belle to show her to a conference room where the others are waiting. She tapping her nails against the large oak desk that greets anyone who should walk through the door, and she knows she looks impatient, but she wants to get to Robin's house as fast as she can in order to start their proper defense.<p>

Belle re-appears a second later, and she freezes her fingers mid-tap. "Sorry, Regina," she says politely. "I wasn't sure which room you'd all be meeting in. Follow me."

She follows the pretty Australian - still wonders how on earth Gold managed to bag himself such a kind hearted woman as a wife - up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor, and once again Regina has to remind herself she's in a working office, and not a house - that she isn't in some skyscraper, but an old Victorian terrace that's been converted.

The others are all there when she opens the door, politely declines Belle's offer of coffee, and moves to take a seat next to Mel, who gives her a quick smile. Lennie is sitting three chairs down typing furiously away, glances up to Regina and stops immediately.

"Took you long enough to get here," she says.

"Yeah, well, some of us have commitments outside of work, dear. I couldn't just drop everything like you could ... unless ... did you get back together with Walsh, or?"

It's a low blow, Regina knows, but Zelena rubs her up the wrong way and always has. The red head glares at her from across the table, pulls a childish face then moves her focus back to her laptop.

"Nice of you to join us," another voice says.

Jeff is sitting opposite Lennie, looking at Regina with interest in his features, interest she doesn't bother returning. She hasn't seen him since she quit Gold's firm - he isn't exactly on her christmas card list - and in the past year, he hasn't changed much at all. His hair is maybe a little longer, still a mass of black curls that, in Regina's opinion, could do with some serious conditioner on those ends, he still has a cold exterior, still observes the room in which he sits in near silence. She doesn't like him, never has, never will, and has no problem letting her blatant ignoring of his question tell him so.

"Where are we at, then?" She says.

Gold opens his mouth, looks as though he's about to say something when the scrawny boy sitting to his right jumps in. This must be Peter, she thinks. The boy Mel told her about.

"Well we think it would be best for you to stick to gathering Robin's character witnesses together, and-" he stops mid sentence the second Gold raises his hand. Peter sits back in his chair, head down, and it makes Regina smirk. _Amateur_, she thinks.

"As Peter here so eagerly described," Gold begins. "I would like it if you looked after Robin. He trusts you, his friends took a shine to you. You'll have more hope than the rest of us schooling them in how to handle questioning."

Regina nods, tries to ignore the flutters in her chest at the idea of spending a lot more time with Robin as the weeks go on.

"I'm trying my best to get us a trial date for December. It'll give us enough time to build a defense, but isn't dragging the process out. I've got Jeff digging up as much information on Jonathan Prince as he possibly can, and Zelena and Mel are trying to find where Killian Jones may have sailed off to."

"We know he was last seen boarding a ferry to take him to Calais, but we're working on it from there."

"Does Killian even know Liam's dead?" She asks with a frown.

"Not that we're aware. Killian is the only person who can verify that Robin wouldn't have had time to get from where they were in Barnsbury Wood to where Liam's body was discovered, _and _dispose of the gun, in the time frame they have. We need to find him," Gold says, looks unblinking at Mel, then Lennie, who nod in agreement.

"Okay, well I'm meeting Robin this afternoon to go over anyone he thinks could be a good character witness for us. Is there anything else you want me to go over?" Regina asks Gold.

"Not that I can think of, you know what you're doing." Regina nods, appreciates the confidence, and gets up to leave. "Oh, actually," Golds says, makes her halt in the doorway. "If you get time could you maybe go and talk to the detective on this case? I got the distinct feeling when I was talking to him he knows more about Jonathan Prince then he's letting on. But maybe he'll be more open to talking to a pretty face."

Regina nods, rolls her eyes at Golds words, then asks, "sure, what's his name?"

"Graham Hunt. You can find him at Scotland Yard."

And with that information, she leaves to make her way to Robin's.

-§-

His house is exactly like she pictured it would be. Three stories tall, sandwiched between two identical buildings, has one large bay window to the right of the front door - that's painted dark green with a brass knocker and letterbox that's rusting around the edges, has three steep, stone steps that lead up to it, sits in between an ornate iron fence that runs under what she can only assume is the front room window, protecting the flower box the runs under its ledge.

He opens the door with a smile that slays her, after three sharp wraps of the knocker.

"You found it okay?" He asks, stepping aside to let her through.

The stairs are directly opposite the door, and while the house may be tall, it isn't exactly wide. The hall they stand in is narrow, leads down to the kitchen/diner and sits adjacent to the living room.

"I got a taxi," she confesses as he leads her into the front room.

"The tube isn't that bad, you know."

"I know, it's just getting a cab is more ..."

"Convenient." He finishes for her, and she nods.

"Regina!"

She looks down, feels her smile get wider as Roland scrambles up off a bright green bean bag that sits opposite the television and hurries over to her. There's a tartan dog basket under the window, propped up against the radiator, but no dog that she can see, and as her eyes do and once over of the room, she decides it's very 'Robin'.

There are two packed bookcases that stand next to the fireplace, and at the wall opposite the window, lies a large dark oak desk filled with office supplies, and a macbook. It's a truly beautiful piece, and she wonders briefly if he made it. It's strong and sturdy, much like its owner, a little worn round the edges, fits in perfectly with the rest of the room. The couch is opposite the fireplace, tanned leather, something easy enough to clean with a messy child running around the house, with a large dark green and red throw draped over the back. This room is dotted with photographs of Roland, of the rest of Robin's friends, save for one of a fluffy west highland terrier in a black frame that sits on the mantel surrounding the fireplace.

There's a chest of toys next to the TV. Toys that are currently half strewn across the floor, and it brings her eyes back round to the dark haired child standing at her feet.

"Good morning, Roland. How are you?"

"I'm okay," he says, then takes her hand. "Do you want to see my room?"

Robin lets out a laugh then shakes his head. "Regina will not want to see your messy bedroom, Roland."

She rounds on Robin. "I very much do want to see your bedroom. Will you please give me a tour?"

"She wants to see, daddy!"

He leads her up the stairs, and she'd forgotten just how endearing a child this age can be. His bedroom is just as Robin described; messy. Toys and clothes lie over the floor in a jumbled heap, and his bed hasn't been made yet. His bed, though, is something Regina can't take her eyes off. Namely because the wood it's frame is carved from looks like the bark of a tree trunk, sits against the base of a large mural on his bedroom wall - a beautifully painted woodland scene that matches the dark green of his carpet, and she doesn't have to ask to know what Roland's favourite colour is.

"Did you make this?" She breathes, eyes drinking in the detail, and when he said he built furniture for a living, she hadn't realised he was quite this artistic.

"I did indeed. Mulan painted the wall for me while Marian was pregnant. It looks pretty good, huh?"

"I'll say," she laughs. "You've put a glorified forest in your house."

"Regina," Roland says, pulls her attention back down to him. He's holding a very worn stuffed monkey in his hands. "This is Ruff. He's my favourite."

Regina crouches to Roland's level, holds out her hands and turns the toy over when he passes it gently. Most of the fur has worn away, and he's missing one eye, but she can tell he's loved more than anything else in the room. It reminds her of the blasted white horse Henry used to carry around like a security blanket, and there's a tug at her heart at the thought of her nephew. She's going to call him later, she thinks.

"Do you want to see daddy's room now?" Roland asks, takes Ruff back from her and sets him carefully on his bed.

Robin jumps in. "Roland, I think Regina has probably seen enough of the house."

"But she hasn't seen your room, papa, and she hasn't met Jack," Roland whines, then pointedly ignores Robin and pulls Regina across the hall and into Robin's room. She chuckles as she passes him, because his head is thrown back in exasperation and a groan is escaping his throat.

Robin's bedroom is at the front of the house, and is simply enough really. Wardrobes, a chest of drawers that's cluttered with a small TV and an array of aftershaves, an Ipod and some headphones. There's a floor length mirror drilled to one of the wardrobe doors that sit next to the bed. That's under the window, and on it, lies the same fluffy white terrier she saw a photo of downstairs.

The dog looks up slowly, gauges her for a second, then promptly drops his head back down. Roland clambers up on the bed.

"This is Jack. Jack, this is Regina."

Regina chuckles, heart filled with warmth at just how sweet a little boy Roland is - a credit to Robin, she thinks - and moves to sit on the bed and pet Jack's head. He looks old now, older than in the photos down stairs, and the speed of his movements, along with the deep yawn he gives at receiving this fuss make her feel more sure.

"He's a very nice doggy," Regina says kindly, and Roland nods.

"He has a ball downstairs that we throw when we take him to the park, do you want to see?"

"Sure," she laughs, watches as Roland climbs down off the bed and claps of Jack to follow, which he does after a little coercion from Robin, and they both hurry back down the stairs. Regina leans back on her hands, still sitting on the bed as Robin leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. "Can't say I've ever been in a client's bedroom before."

Robin laughs. "Well then ... I'm glad I'm your first."

They spend the day together, entertaining Roland, gruelingly pour over Robin's address book for Regina to make a note of the name and contact information of everyone he thinks might stand for him. She begins to tell him what he can expect in the weeks to come, and that Gold is taking his suspicions about Jonathan Prince seriously. They're sitting at the dining table - that's in the kitchen, which is actually a pretty decent size - with her notes and laptop strewn across the table, and as Roland has worn himself out, is flat out on the couch, she takes the opportunity to ask Robin just what it is that has Gold so attentive to his case.

"Just let me worry about Gold," is all he says in response, and it makes her nervous.

"Well ... just be careful. I don't know what you've got on him, Robin. But he has a reputation as the devil in my world ... and you might not be so glad you struck a deal with him."

He nods, seemingly takes on her warning, and not another word is said.

-§-

The week goes by in the blink of an eye, and she sees Robin and Roland every day. On Thursday, he invites her over to his for dinner, something that should have been just the two of them after Roland was in bed, but actually turned into a huge barbecue. John and Tuck arrived shortly after she did, followed by Mulan and Aurora, and as the night wore on, Regina was introduced to Wendy - Robin's neighbor. A pretty girl in a her mid twenties, and an accent so posh Regina would have sworn she was royalty. The night is damn near perfect; good conversation, plenty of laughs, amazing food - Robin is a secret chef, she's sure - and as twilight settles over the garden, she finds herself shivering. She doesn't say a word, simply hugs her arms across her chest, but two minutes later Robin is there, draping a hoodie over her shoulders. She smiles, cuddles herself in to the over-sized warmth that smells just like him ... keeps it on for the rest of the night. She drinks, three glasses of red wine that go down like a treat, and she won't be hungover in the morning, not by any means, but still, she can feel the slight wooziness of alcohol afterwards, when she breathes in the fresh air and climbs into the back of a cab Robin called for her.

"Text me when you make it back to the hotel?" He asks, head hanging through the window of the car. She nods, smiles sleepily because jet leg still isn't her friend. "I'm sorry it wasn't just us tonight."

"No worries, I had a lot of fun," she says. "Can you remind Tuck he's supposed to meet me in the morning?" She asks him and he nods, lingers for a moment, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks he would kiss her if this was a date. Or if he was her boyfriend.

But he's not, and he doesn't. Instead wishes her good night, and tells the driver where she's headed.

She can still smell him on her skin from his jacket as she climbs into bed, feels her face etched in a permanent, peaceful smile as she's pulled into a deep, deep, sleep.

-§-

A moan escapes her throat at the feel of his stubble on her skin. He's pressing wet kisses down the column of her throat, in the dip of her collar bone then back up. She wraps her legs more firmly around his waist, grips their fingers tighter together, and he's holding their hands above her head, not giving her the chance to scrape her nails down his back like she wants to, but it doesn't mean the restraint isn't spine tingling. Another moan, louder this time, as his length slides up, between her folds and gives her clit the friction she's been trembling for.

He isn't inside, not yet, is too busy biting her skin then licking it to soothe to focus on bringing them home just yet. His mouth moves to one of her nipples, has her body writhing beneath his as his teeth graze and tease, and she manages to mumble out _please_, can practically feel his smirk against her skin, but he complies, and in an instant her eyes are dancing with the pleasure of him sucking hard. Her skin puckers, and Regina arches her back, squeezed her thighs tighter, and it's enough to make him groan into her chest.

"I need you," she pants, desperately hopes he'll listen and finally enter. Her heart is pounding against her chest, her skin slick with sweat and spit and she should probably be exhausted ... they've been doing this for as long as she can remember. Why isn't she tired yet?

"Robin," she moans, and she's shocked. Momentarily taken back when he brings his face to hover above her own and yes, it's Robin. Robin who is grinding against her, Robin who is making her squirm with anticipation, who has befuddled her mind with passionate kisses and made a fire burn in the pit of her stomach.

It is Robin who is currently reaching down between them and guiding his cock inside and she can't help it. Her mouth drops open, and with the hand she now has free she fists his hair while his forehead drops down against her own, grinds her hips and oh god ... this ... this is -

"Robin," she moans again, revels in his heavy breathing, and the fact his sweaty belly is pressed against her own and oh fuck - fuck she's close ... she's really, really close. And it's odd that she'd be on the cusp of orgasm like this ... with nothing pressing on her clit and at an angle that doesn't really get him as deep as he could be, but _oh_.

She closes her eyes, waits for the sweet, hair raising sensation to wash over her body, squeezes her legs tighter and wait ... that's not right. His body is soft ... not the tense muscle she left minutes before. She squeezes again, rolls her hips then suddenly realises she isn't on her back at all ... she's on her side.

There's a noise ... an intruding blare of what she thinks is her alarm, but it can't be, because it's night time. It's still dark out and she's too busy getting fucked for it to even be close to a sensible time to wake up. She groans, buries her head into the pillow as the blaring gets louder and louder, her hips roll over and over and she can't take it anymore-

Regina sits bolt upright, is cruelly pulled from what she can only describe as one of the most intense dreams she has ever had and winces at the sunlight that pours through the gap in her curtains. Her chest is heaving, skin drenched in sweat, and there's a plump pillow tucked between her thighs and _ah_ ... that is probably what she's been rubbing up against. She frowns, tosses the pillow to one side and pulls her knees up to let her head drop down against them and really? Could she not at least have finished before this happened.

She glares at her cell phone, smacks the screen with an unnecessary force and yanks the covers from her body before standing on jelly legs and making her way to the bathroom.

She's still bitter about it as she showers.

There's another side of her that is wholly mortified that it was Robin ... her client ... who was said person providing the orgasm and just how twisted does that make her? Not very, she reassures herself as she lathers shampoo in her hair. He's good looking and you've spent pretty much every day with him. She sighs heavily, washes her body ... very _nearly_ gives in to the temptation to let her fingers linger and finish herself off, but she can't. All she'd think of was him, and being out of a comatose state means she has no right to think of him when fucking herself with her fingers.

No matter how much she may want to.

Her ire doesn't die down, even as she eats breakfast. She checks the time after she's finished. Tuck should be here any moment for her to begin briefing him on possible questions the prosecution may have, on questions she will be asking, and how to answer correctly and to the point.

"Regina," she hears her name not a minutes later, but when she looks up, Tuck isn't the one walking over to her table. Her face flushes, and the heat she felt between her legs on waking begins to burn again.

Robin is maneuvering himself around a table filled with business men, and quick Regina, school your features before he guesses he drove you insane with incredible dream-sex last night. She pinches the bridge of her nose with a roll of her eyes. Seriously, he won't figure that out unless she outright tells him ... this is going to be a very long day.

"What are you doing here? Where's Tuck?" She asks as he takes the seat opposite.

"He said he's really sorry but he can't make it. He does volunteer work for the Good Samaritans and they had a pretty distressed caller earlier ... one that usually speaks to Tuck whenever she rings in."

"Oh, right ... that's awful," she says, then looks down, away from his gaze because she cannot shake the image of his face screwed up in pleasure, of him biting that bottom lip and making her skin prickle with the feel of his rough stubble. "I can brief him whenever he's next free, then."

"Absolutely."

"How come you came here to tell me? You could have just sent me a text," she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I was on my way to go and buy Roland's birthday presents. This is the first day I've had free since the hearing, and yes, I could have text you. But I'll be honest ... I had another agenda in disrupting your breakfast."

"Oh?"

"Fancy coming with me? Mulan usually does but she's busy, and Aurora's on shift today, and I hate shopping. I need someone who will force me not to throw a tantrum if there's a queue." Regina chuckles, bites her bottom lip and looks down guiltily at the mound of paperwork she was going to go through after Tuck left. She should stay here and work ... but the idea of spending the whole day alone with Robin proves more tempting than it should be. More tempting than it would have been if he hadn't of worked her into a frenzy in her dream.

Yes, Regina._ In your dreams_ ... cut it out!

"Please?" He says, looking hopeful, and very much with Roland in that moment.

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Let me go and put this back up stairs."

-§-

Robin moves around the mall with purpose, like any man. He knows what he's buying, won't stop to browse and in some cases, has even preordered so he can go straight to the checkout. It's busy, men, women and children milling around with all the urgency of a snail, and it makes him cranky. He won't wait in queues, tells her they'll come back to this shop later if there's so much as two people waiting to be served. Impatience isn't a trait she'd associate with him, so it surprises her that he's gotten so agitated, so quickly and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying something along the lines of 'well you should have done this sooner'.

He seems to already know that.

Still, he calms a short while later, when they're loaded with bags full of toys and clothes and gift wrap. He strolls through the mall quite happily now, as they make their way back to the entrance (they'll get a cab back, he says, there's no point in lugging all this on the tube), and suddenly he's back to his usual carefree self. Alright, so maybe the temper is just secluded to shopping for over priced toys. They chat casually as they walk through the crowds, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Robin tells her his favourite things about living in London, things he misses about Yorkshire, how he can't quite believe Roland will be four on Sunday. She asks him what his son wants to do to celebrate, which makes Robin groan.

"He's been begging me for months to take him to Cbeebies world."

"Do I even want to know what that is?"

He chuckles, tells her probably not, then says, "it's children's bit at a theme park. The thing is, we were all going to make a whole trip of it last weekend, but then ..." He doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't need to. And then he was arrested. "I wanted to try and get it out the way then because of Roland starting school on Tuesday ... now I don't know whether to wait until half term week so we can all go up there for a few days and stay over."

"Half term?" She questions, reminds him again she hasn't got a clue when he speaks about things sometimes.

Robin shakes his head, somewhat like he's telling himself off, "a week the schools close between now and Christmas," he explains quickly, then goes on with "I suppose the only issue with that is he'll have to wait another eight weeks before we go."

"Ouch, long time for a four year old."

"Indeed," he agrees. "I doubt somehow he'll understand if I tell him we have to do that."

Regina acknowledges his problem with a _mmm_, and they fall silent for the first time since they met that morning. It's comfortable, not at all awkward, and as they meander peacefully past rows of shops, it suddenly dawns on her just how natural this all feels. Him, her, shopping together like it's something they've done numerous times. They fell into a rhythm quite quickly - he would move to exactly the aisle he needed to be in, and Regina would wander off in search of something different. Not that she'd buy anything from a toy store, but honestly, staring at all the boys toys, the lego and the action figures and toy weapons reminded her of the little boy she had left back in Boston. He wasn't all that into acting out his imagination, not now he was a little older, instead preferred to immerse himself in a gameboy or the xbox Emma had bought him last christmas (a gift Regina had scoffed at, a gift they had very nearly rowed about, and not for the first time since she had given up guardianship of her nephew, she had been given a cold, hard dose of the reality that Henry is not her son - she no longer gets to decide whether games consoles are too frivolous a gift for a ten year old).

Back and forth this rhythm went, of her milling around the shop, of him paying for whatever it was Roland desired, of her twiddling absentmindedly with 'try-me' toys sitting on shelves and their batteries half dead, of him finally finding her with a _'there you are,'_ and it's only as the plastic of the bag handles she's carrying digs into her fingers, leaves her skin angry and red from the weight, does she realise that actually, she's pretty exhausted. And hungry. She slows, is about to suggest they stop for food before heading back when his cell sounds loudly. She glances at the screen, standing by his side as he stops walking and fishes the device from his pocket. It's John.

Robin throws her an apologetic look before answering, and they somehow fall back into their rhythm. He talks on the phone, standing just to the side of the mall aisle, bags held together between his legs, and she lets her legs move her a little way away. She glances through shop windows, stops to admire a really gorgeous blue dress sitting in the window, one she really is tempted to run in and buy, before her eyes move to the shop that sits next door, and _oh_ ... that is pretty.

Regina strolls towards it casually, stares through the window with pursed lips and an argument running through her mind that she really does not need this item of clothing, has absolutely no business wearing anything like it. She's thirty four years old, and things aren't as pert as they were when she was twenty-one, not to mention the fact that she is very tragically single at this moment - who the hell would she wear it for anyway? The arguments her mind offers still don't distract her eyes from the red and black lace teddy that fits snuggly on a skinny, plastic mannequin in the window of Victoria Secret, and she wonders briefly just how long it's been since she wore anything remotely that sexy, since she felt remotely that sexy.

Jefferson flits through her mind, but she can't ever remember going out of her way to showcase lingerie for him. That had never really been their style. Too couple-y, too much effort for what was basically six years of occasional, friendly fucking whenever they were both single and felt the urge.

"See something you like?"

His voice jumps her, and Regina's hand shoots up to press against her heart as it settles itself from his startle, she turns to glare at him. Robin is biting his bottom lip, looking sheepishly between her and the very same lace teddy she had just been ogling, not bothering to hide the smile that makes his dimples deepen. Not that he needs to ask if she was admiring it, (he can quite blatantly tell - she wasn't exactly being coy). Still, she quite firmly tells him, "no," but it sounds more like a child's whining rather than the nonchalance she had been aiming for.

Robin chuckles, then shrugs before they carry on to move past the lingerie in the window before saying, "what's not to like?"

Her face feels hot, and it's all she can do to just shake her head and roll her dark eyes.

"So," he says a moment later as the walk, "it occurred to me the other day that you know pretty much every sordid detail of my life." It's a statement, not a exactly a conversation starter, nor a question, but he still looks down at her with curious eyes.

Eyes she ignores. Or ... tries to.

Regina lets out a laugh, then reminds him, "the price you pay for having a thorough lawyer, I'm afraid."

"True. Still, we've been spending all this time together, and so far all I really know about you is your name, and the fact you have a nephew called Henry."

Regina holds his gaze, pausing a second in their steps, breathing in deep through her nose and biting the inside of her cheek. She feels a sly smirk twitch at the corners of her mouth, catches it before it's a full blown smile, and as she scrutinizes him through squinted eyes, she asks, "what did you want to know?"

Robin looks away, down at his feet for a fleeting moment, his mouth drawn in a line as he ponders what to ask her. "What part of the States are you from?"

"Boston."

"How long have you been a lawyer?"

"Ten years," she answers with a wince, and when exactly did she become old enough to have already had a decade of a career under her belt?

He ignores her blatant squirm, presses on with a nod and "have you always worked for Mr Gold?"

A spike of nerves rises in her chest, hits her straight in the heart and for a split second, she panics. Robin isn't watching her, thankfully too busy maneuvering himself around a group of teens that are congregating around a bench outside a Pandora shop. She schools her features before he can see her alarm, because she knows that question will lead to another of _why did you quit?_ She forces a laugh, shakes her head then says, "jeez, is this twenty questions? My palms are sweating, Robin."

He chuckles. "It wasn't, but what an excellent idea!"

Shit.

Regina huffs out a breath, a ghost of a smile on her face that says_ oh god, what have I walked myself into? _"Oh no, don't you go getting any ideas."

"Why not? It's just a game."

"You want me to answer twenty questions about my personal life?"

"Technically it's eighteen. You've already answered two."

They've stopped walking now. She looks at him for a moment, can feel herself caving under the intensity of his blue, blue eyes. She should look away, should carry on walking before he starts picking at her life like it's his for the taking, but she can't ... or doesn't want to, is shaking her head at his audacity and finding herself agreeing before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. "Fine, but I have two conditions."

"Please?" he asks, and they start walking again.

"Firstly, I'm only playing if we go and buy lunch. Secondly, I get to veto ten."

"Ten?!" He says, not hiding the exasperation in his voice. "I'll gladly agree to the first, but ten? That's half the questions. You can veto one."

"Five."

"Three," he says, voice decidedly firmer, "and that's as high as I'm willing to go."

She thinks it's funny, how he is calling the shots on this game when she is the one holding the cards. She also thinks it's funny (pathetic) that she's letting him. Regina doesn't bother arguing. Robin leads her to the street outside, past yet more shops and into a grill eatery called Bumpkin. It has a loft bar, comfy leather couches surrounding a grand fireplace, is dotted with tables and chairs that don't match but somehow look just right together. They sit at a high circular table next to a window that overlooks the street, somewhat tucked in the corner and out of range from other diners. They order drinks - beer for him, red wine for her - and food, burgers, because they're in a grill bar after all, and as they wait for their food to arrive, Regina feels a bout of nerves begin to bubble in the pit of her stomach. They are sitting across from one another, both leaning in, resting on elbows (she can hear her mothers voice in the back of her mind, bad table manners Regina, and moves to cross her arms and relax back in her chair).

"So," he starts again, and the nerves grow more. "Gold?" He asks, reminds her of his earlier question.

Regina takes a deep breath. "Yes, I've always worked for Gold. He was my professor in college, hired me as soon as I graduated, but, ah ... I'm not employed by him anymore. I lecture at Harvard now." Her voice has slowed, she's choosing her words carefully, and he seems to understand that he may have hit a nerve, so instead of giving in to the obvious curiosity that's written on his face, he switches his next question to something completely different.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Two, step-sisters. Emma and Mary Margaret. My mom married their dad when I was fourteen."

"Are you close with them?"

"I guess. More so now then when we were kids. I'm older than them, so they used to drive me crazy."

"Which of them is Henry's mother?"

"Emma." She is about to go on, about to tell him the whole story behind her youngest sister and her son, but then that will grant him another question, so she doesn't. He asks in a heartbeat anyway.

"How did you come to raise him?"

Another deep breath, and this time, she answers fast. "Em fell into a bad crowd when she was in high school ... she met a guy who was ah, a gigantic asshole, to say the least, started stealing things, destructing public property, causing havoc pretty much wherever she went." Regina pauses in her story, looks up to see Robin completely enthralled, not at all judgmental, and why would he judge? He had pretty much the same sort of background. She clears her throat. "When she was eighteen, she got in over her head and involved in a pretty serious robbery. She didn't actually take anything, it was all him, but she was the one who was caught. He got away, Gold defended Emma for me but the evidence, and her priors were just too much. He managed to get her a plea bargain, which she took because it meant she'd be out of prison in eighteen months with good behavior. Then eight weeks after she went down, she found out she was pregnant.

"She wanted to keep the baby," Regina says, smiles sadly at the memory of her little sister sobbing during a visit because she knew it would get taken off her the second it was born. "But my mom refused point blank to help, and her father is the mayor ... she had already caused a huge stain on his reputation with her arrest, god knows it would have finished his career if they had taken in a bastard child. Mary Margaret had just started college, so she was out, and I ... I had just graduated." She shrugs, then meets his eyes with her lips pressed together. "I was the only one who was in a position to help. So when Henry was born, I was named his legal guardian until Emma got released."

He nods, then frowns a little. "I thought you said you raised him until he was six? Surely he would still have been a baby when Emma was released."

"He would have been, but ah, she wasn't exactly well behaved when she was inside. And then when she finally got out, Henry was nearly four, and she just wasn't ready to be a mother. I wouldn't have been comfortable with it, so we just introduced her into his life, visits, days out, weekends away ... she sorted herself out, got a job, an apartment, and then when Henry was six, he went to go and live with her."

"I cannot imagine how hard that must have been. Letting him go like that," Robin says quietly, and she just nods, breathes in deep through her nose and blinks away the wetness collecting in her eyes.

Their food arrives, interrupts the moment, and as they tuck in (the burger is huge, and she curses herself for even ordering such a thing, because there is no way in hell she'll be able to eat this gracefully), he carries on with his interrogation.

"Are you close with your parents?"

She snorts - another graceless moment, and good god Regina, can you at least attempt to act classy today? "Not in the slightest. My dad moved back to Puerto Rico when I was twelve, and my mother is what can only be described as a cast iron bitch."

Robin raises his eyebrows, seems surprised she would say something so callous about her own mother, but then he's never met her, isn't familiar with her manipulation and steely exterior, with the heartless knock downs and the never ending 'it's just not good enough, Regina.'

"What about your step-father, are you close with him?"

"Veto," she says firmly, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she pushes around the fries - _chips_ - on her plate with her fork, and waits for his next question. She will not waste breath on the man that makes her break out in a cold sweat and tense her muscles until they ache. The atmosphere between them has changed somewhat, but he surprises her by actually letting it drop and changing the tone of his questions altogether.

"If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

Regina lets out a laugh, frowns as he bites into his burger. "What kind of a question is that?"

"A completely legitimate one," he says, mouth half full.

"Apple turnovers," she says, shaking her head, but she's still smiling, can feel a warmth in her face and her eyes and her heart because she likes that he can make her laugh so easily.

"Interesting," he says with a smirk. When she asks _what is?_ He goes on with, "that you chose a sweet. I'd have picked you for savory."

"Well maybe you don't know me as well as you think," she says with a small smirk and the cock of one eyebrow.

"Hence this game," he says, finishes his burger with a bite that was probably too big for his mouth, then washes it down with a swig of cold beer. "Books or movies?"

"Books."

"Stay in or go out?"

"Stay in."

"Sun or snow?"

"Sun." Like that's even a question. She hates snow.

"Cats or dogs?"

"Horses," throws him, and he chuckles.

"If you had to die by drowning, or being burned alive ... which would you choose?"

"You know ... this game has just taken a really morbid turn," she says with a less than graceful snort, waits for him to change his question. Robin sits and waits patiently for her answer, a small, intrigued smile on his face and she sighs. "Well ... drowning is supposed to be quite peaceful."

"So you'd drown?"

"However, I'm pretty sure you'd die of smoke inhalation before you actually burned to death ... so I guess they're one in the same."

He barks out a laugh. "Alright smart arse," he says, shaking his head and she laughs again, sits back with a victorious grin, throws the last bite of her burger in her mouth and watches as his expression turns into something a little different. "Are you single?"

She freezes, halting her jaw as teeth chew through her food and moves to hold his gaze. She pulls her hand up to cover her mouth and swallows, slow enough for her ears to register the deep gulp in her throat. "Yes," she says quietly.

He nods slightly, doesn't take his eyes off hers as a busboy comes and clears their plates. She leans in as he does then, ignores her earlier reservations about bad table manners, and as she grazes her teeth over her bottom lip, a smile tugs at her mouth. His eyes flicker, and it's so quick she could have imagined it, but she thinks they moved to her lips all the same. He smiles at her then, a smile that warms his eyes and makes her heart flutter against her ribcage. She knows this is teetering on the edge of ethics, knows she shouldn't be indulging his curious nature ... but she also knows it has been years since she spoke to anyone like this, since she felt interesting and fun and, dare she think it, desired by another person. So she rolls with it, ignores the voice in her head yelling at her unprofessional behaviour, and waits for his next question.

"When was your last serious relationship?"

Her heart stops, drops, just for a second. Daniels face fills her mind, followed immediately by the blood curdling sobs of a fourteen year old Mary Margaret and the sad, sympathetic tone of the police officer that broke the news that he was dead. "Veto," she says quietly, and it's not like it hurts like it used to, but she doesn't really feel like plucking at the fine strings that are holding her heart together. He nods, respects that she won't open up to him about that, finishes his beer then gets up to order another.

When he returns, it's with a drink for her too - she didn't ask for it, but thanks him all the same, sips on the cool, red liquid as he sits, and for a pause, they're both silent.

"You said the other night that you still see Henry almost everyday. It's nice that you still get to be close to him," he observes, and she smiles, _yeah it is_, with a nod. "Would you ever have any children of your own?"

She's classing this as one of his questions, (thinks really he's just making conversation - she is after all, in her mid thirties and has a soft spot for children, why wouldn't that be the general assumption?) "Veto," she tells him, her answer informing that they're still playing, and that no, she won't be answering that particular doozy. The very last thing Regina needs is to talk to the guy she currently _really_ has the hots for, and bore him to tears with stories of her anatomy, and how her body refuses to house a fetus like it should. Because there's giving him personal details, and then there's giving him _really_ personal details. "You have two questions left," she says, easing over the fact she's veto'd two questions in a row. "Use them wisely."

"Why did you take my case?" He asks. It throws her.

For a moment, she just looks at him; brings her hand up to scratch her neck then lets it drop once more. "Honestly? I have no idea," she says - won't go on to tell him it's because she thought he had sad eyes and wondered what his stubble would feel like against her skin, (she's still wondering that, even now, as they sit face to face and the different tones in his facial hair catch in the sunlight that pours through the window). She clears her throat and shakes the image of his tongue running over her body out of her head, and jesus, that dream will never leave her, will it? When she speaks again, she looks straight into his eyes. "I hadn't worked on a real case in over a year ... and then Gold called, asked for my help. I just ... I guess I didn't really think I could say no after he sent me your case file."

Robin frowns a little. "Why haven't you worked on a real case for the past year?"

Regina holds his gaze, feels panic rise in her chest again, stays silent while she struggles with this internal battle as to whether or not answer him. She's used all of her veto's ... she has no choice, (he wouldn't make her talk if she didn't want to, deep down, she knows that - knows that this is just a silly game, and if he overstepped then he would be horrified at making her uncomfortable). But there's curiosity in his eyes, and the fact she's been silent for this long means he's knows there's something up, knows there is a pretty huge reason as to why she gave up her career and has been playing mother to a bunch of idiotic law students she doesn't actually like. It's common knowledge back home, had pretty wide spread press coverage, so he could find out what happened on Google easily enough.

"You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, Regina," he says, and the steadiness in his voice ebbs away some of her nerves.

"But I don't have any veto's left."

"So we'll just have played nineteen questions today. I already feel like I know you better." He's nothing but sincere when she looks up into his eyes, expression full of concern, and she finds suddenly that she doesn't want him to find out from Google ... if he's going to know about the way her heart was shattered for the second time in her life ... Regina wants him to hear it from her.

She looks down, starts tugging at the corners of a beer mat, then takes a long, slow breath, and answers his twentieth question. "About eighteen months ago ... I had this case ... and it, ah ... it didn't end well," she says, knows it doesn't even come close to answering properly, but it's a start. "Gold's firm was hired to defend a man who had been accused of murder, and he asked me to head up the case. Sidney Glass," she starts, squints her eyes as she thinks of him, shudders too, "was nothing at all what I expected. The crime in question was ... brutal. The killer had ... cut the victims heart out of her chest," her eyes flicker up quick enough to see Robin grimace. "Stashed her body in a parking lot outside a diner on the highway. They had just about enough evidence to arrest Sidney, but it wasn't much. Glass was a ... nervous man. Always one edge, always tearing up ... he didn't fit the bill for your typical homicidal maniac."

"You defended him?"

Regina nods. "I defended him."

"And lost?"

"I have never lost a case in my life." She says those words firmly, if not slightly affronted. "I worked pretty much round the clock on his ... spent a lot of time with him over the few months we waited for his trial. He was still in prison though, couldn't afford bail, and the other inmates..." She trails off slightly, winces at the memory of the number of times she visited her client only to be met with a man battered and bruised, so desperately upset. "Well, let's just say the other inmates didn't exactly warm to him."

"Did you think he was guilty?" Robin asks, and she frowns.

"It is the one time in my career I honestly had no idea. He didn't seem like the kind of man to do something so calculating, but there was just something about him I just couldn't shake. This ... feeling. At the time I put it down to the fact I was pretty sure he had a crush on me." Regina looks up to meet his eyes, feels her face redden just slightly.

Robins brow rises. "Having a crush on your lawyer doesn't sound like the smartest idea in the world," he says, but there's an expression on his face that she can't quite read, and he's not looking in her eyes anymore.

Not until she answers with, "right." Confirming his statement. No, having a crush on your lawyer does not bode well ... neither does having one on the client, she reminds herself. But then their eyes meet once more, blue on brown, and for a second, she gets the feeling neither of them are talking about her and Glass anymore.

"So you won his case," Robin says, pulls them from there moment - and they're having too many of these weird, unspoken moments for her liking. She takes a gulp of her wine, and readies herself for the next bit in this twisted tale she has begun to tell him.

"I won his case. And then something shifted. I met him outside the court house to say congratulations and his whole ... demeanor had completely flipped. He was confident, and calm, had this," she waves her hand in front of her face, "_look_ in his eyes and I knew then that I'd been played. That he was definitely guilty. And I'd just helped in setting him free."

"You're a defense lawyer, Regina. You can't blame yourself for doing your job. Surely you've gotten others that were guilty off before?" He says, voice nothing but reassuring, and it makes her smile sadly, because if only that were the reason she felt so guilty.

"Of course I've helped set guilty people free, but this ... he was different. Everyone I've ever defended has been at least a little remorseful, or stuck in some shitty life they can't get themselves out of and crime is the only thing they know. Sidney Glass was a well respected journalist ... he paid his taxes and walked his neighbors dog. He was just a regular guy. Until I looked in his eyes outside that court house and saw him for what he truly was ... a monster." There are tears swimming in her eyes now, threatening to fall, but she won't let them. "He tried to shake my hand as we left, told me I would never appreciate just how thankful he was, but I was so horrified I just walked off and left him.

"I was on edge for the next four weeks," she recalls. "Jumpy and agitated, and Mary Margaret and Emma and Katherine," she looks away from the beer mat that is now torn to shreds and tells him quietly, "my best friend." Robin nods with an _ah_, "they kept telling me I was being paranoid. I felt like there was someone watching me, *all* the time, and I was positive it was Glass."

"You didn't go to the police?"

Regina closes her eyes. "No. I didn't go to the police. It was just a feeling I had, there was absolutely nothing to suggest I was being stalked, so what could they have done?" It is a sentence she has told herself over and over since it all happened, a sentence Archie gets her to repeat like a mantra when she's having a bad day. That she shouldn't feel guilty for not reporting him because they wouldn't have been able to do anything.

But it doesn't stop the heaviness sitting on her chest, restricting her breath and hurting her heart.

"I got home from work one night and noticed my closet door was wide open and the light left on ... and Katherine, she told me I was crazy, and that I'd probably just left my apartment in a hurry that morning, but I hadn't. I knew he'd been in there." She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, lightly scrapes her nails over the surface of the table. "The next night, Katherine said I could stay at her place, if it was bothering me so much," a watery smile tugs at her mouth. "She said we could make it like one of the slumber parties we used to have in junior high, only this time we could drink all night, and when talked about sex, we would actually know what we were on about."

She lets out a little laugh, and Robin chuckles with her, but the smile doesn't last. She's taken back with a painful lump rising in her throat, one that she has to swallow down forcibly. She takes a shuddered breath in, and Robin's hand inches further across the table, a hairs breadth away from her own, and it's like he's wordlessly telling her he's there. That it's okay, and his gesture is the only thing that makes her carry on talking.

"I had to work late that night, was waiting for a bike messenger to deliver some files I needed for the next day, and Katherine came to meet me at my office. The messenger was late though, and I got a phone call from Emma in a panic because she'd blown a tire on the freeway and needed to pick up Henry from a friends house because he felt sick. Katherine told me she would wait for the messenger, and that I should go and get Henry. We had just ordered a pizza ... she said she'd save me a slice, and then I left."

Regina shakes her head, can feel her body begin to tremble, and it's then that he moves his hands on top of hers, grounds her with his strong grip. Regina turns her hands over, presses their palms together and she is so grateful that he's there, holding her in the only way he can without it being wholly inappropriate (even though hand holding isn't exactly what she'd call professional). Her eyes are thick with unshed tears, and she presses her lips together as she recalls the memory of returning to her office that night. It had been dark, and throwing it down, despite the fact it was July. The rain hammered on the roof of the building that housed her office, the hallways darkened as she made her way through the corridors, and as she rounded the corner, she knew immediately something was off.

"Something was wrong ... I knew it the second I got back to my office, and when ... when I pushed open the door ..." The tears are falling, and she squeezes her eyes shut, tries desperately to rid herself of the image. Of a struggle, and blood, and the lifeless body of her best friend in the whole world lying in the middle of her office floor. "The doctors said there was nothing I could have done ... that Katherine died almost instantly after the first blow to the head that the rest of the ... marks ... on her body, that he did that after she had stopped breathing."

"Glass killed her?" Robin says, voice barely a whisper, and he looks as horrified as she feels. Regina nods.

"The police said she let him in the building because she thought he was the messenger, or the pizza guy."

"Regina," he breathes, shakes his head because what else can he do? "I am so, so, sorry."

She shrugs, nods, tries to hold it together before realising she can't. "Me too," and a sob escapes her mouth. It's all too much. She's sitting in a bar in a foreign country, pouring her heart out to a man she wants but can't have, carving open old wounds of how much she misses her best friend, misses her sarcasm and her no nonsense attitude, misses her guidance, because Katherine would definitely know what to tell her to do about this whole 'I'm having inappropriate feelings for my client' situation she's currently in. The scars she has on her heart - and god knows, there are plenty - from Katherine's death are different from all the others.

And it's her fault. All of it, no one will ever tell her differently. If she had just been more vigilant when it came to Sidney, if she had shook his hand instead of being openly rude to him, if Regina had realised she was being played for a fool and tried a little half-heartedly, then her best friend wouldn't be buried under six feet of mud and soil, in a coffin she probably hated the style of, under a headstone that reads words Katherine would scoff at. She would be alive, she would be telling Regina to get over herself, get over her crush and do her job. Or she would be telling her to fuck ethics, then fuck the hot British guy.

Knowing Katherine, probably the latter.

She's openly crying now, something she _hates_ doing, even in privacy. She lets go of Robin's hands, wipes her wet face, skin stinging from the continuous flow of hot tears, and as her shoulder tense and her breath hitches, Regina drops her elbows to the table and sobs in her hands, hides her face from the world - hides her face from Robin.

She hears his chair shift, and not a second later, his arms are around her, and she's melting into his hold. One of his arms wraps around her shoulders while the other holds her neck, fingers inching into her hairline, and she lets her hands fall away, holds his forearm as she tucks her head under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. They stay like that for a while, her sitting, him standing, and while her breathing evens out and her tears dry, he rocks them back and forth. It feels comforting, safe, and warm ... it feels like she's home.

"You didn't have to tell me any of that, Regina. I'm sorry it upset you so," he says after a time.

Regina pulls back, not away, keeps her hands on his arm so he won't let go and looks into his eyes. "I wanted to," she says simply, and he smiles sadly, pulls her back to drop his chin on the top of her head. "I quit Gold's firm a week later," she tells him.

"I can't imagine how difficult it would have been for you to defend anyone again so soon after that man."

"That's not why I quit," she says with a shuddered breath. "Gold defended Sidney ... for Katherine's murder ... when he was in the docks, Sidney shouted to me that he thought it was me in there. That it should have been me, that Katherine was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, thanks to Gold, instead of rotting in some prison cell for the rest of his life, Sidney Glass is sitting pretty in a hospital for the criminally insane. Which, believe me, is an insult to anyone with mental health problems. That man isn't insane, he's just ... evil."

"You are not to blame for this, Regina," Robin says, the tone of his voice firm but gentle.

"So I keep being told. My therapist thinks working with Gold again might get me some closure."

"You're a better person than I am, working with him again."

"I missed working in a courtroom, on a real case, and," she stops, presses her lips together and frowns.

"And?"

Regina sighs. "and I knew I couldn't say no. The second I saw your mug shot ... there was just something about you that made me agree." She's glad she can't see his face when she says it, and for a beat, neither speak.

"Is it incredibly callous of me to tell you I'm glad you did?" He says quietly, and she smiles.

"No. I'm glad I did too." Regina strokes the pad of her thumb along his arm absentmindedly, reveling in the feeling of being held in the strong arms of a man when she sees it. The tip of a black mark inching its way out of the shirt he wears, and she frowns, pulls back, (ignores the cold draft that sits on her skin after his arms drop), and rucks up his sleeve.

The tattoo lies an inch and a half above his wrist, and for a beat, she does nothing but stare at it's black detail while her jaw drops, and a deep frown forms between her brows.

This cannot be possible.

"Is something wrong?" She hears him ask, but his voice is distant as she's pulled back into a memory she had long forgotten all about.

_"__Come on, it's just for fun! You do remember what that is, don't you? Fun?" Katherine teases._

_Regina purses her lips, cocks on eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest stubbornly. "I just think it's stupid. Why would we fork out all this cash for some charlatan to tell us absolute crap about our lives?" _

_"__Oh, stop being such a spoil sport. You know Mary Margaret would love this for the hen party!" Ruby says, joins in the coercion. _

_"__Let's just try her out, and if she sucks, you can tell me you told me so." Katherine holds her hands up as she says it, and Regina lets out a huff, followed by an over-dramatic groan as she throws her head backwards. Katherine seems to realise she's won, and squeals out a _**_yaaayyyy_**_, and the next thing she knows, Regina is being dragged, both arms linked by her best friend and her little sisters maid of honor, into the back room of an old store front that sells strange trinkets she wouldn't be caught dead buying. _

_The clairvoyant in question is a woman. Short, petite, has a mass of blonde curls piled high in a messy bun on the top of her head, a little pixie of a thing with a cute nose and a warm smile. _

_"__Hi, we have an appointment, it's under Lucas," Ruby says. _

_"__Of course, it's very nice to meet you. My name is Isobel," she says, voice drowning in an accent Regina _**_thinks _**_might Australian. "What was the purpose of our meeting today?" She asks, and Ruby snorts. _

_"__Shouldn't you already know that?" Katherine nudges her, sigh out an exasperated _**_Ruby_**_, that makes Regina roll her eyes. She has a point. "We're thinking of hiring you for a hen party ... and we just wanted to check you out first, you know? Make sure you're legit," she carries on, all the tact of a girl who literally has no filter. For as long as Regina has known Ruby, she has been a talk first, think later, kind of girl. _

_Isobel nods with an easy smile, then gestures for them to take a seat on the old, worn leather couch that sits opposite a round table. "Which of you would like to begin with a reading?" She asks, sits at the table and begins to shuffle the tarot cards in her hands with an impressive speed. _

_None of them move, and after a beat, Regina feels Katherine's shoulder nudge her forward. She and Ruby are sat down before Regina can so much as utter the words, 'no way in hell,' and she sighs heavily, takes the seat opposite this blonde pixie. _

_"__You're skeptical," Isobel observes._

_Regina holds her gaze, shoulders beginning to tighten. "I don't believe in any of this hocus pocus. Not really my thing, no offense."_

_"__None taken. It takes more than blind faith for some people." She throws a glance back to the girls, who are watching in awe, then breathes out a 'hmm' in response. The blonde before her spreads the cards in an arch across the table, then rests on her elbows and laces her fingers together. "Please, pick three cards." _

_Regina's eyes glide over the cards for a moment, then she picks the three from the middle, pulls them towards her with three fingers, then looks up at the 'psychic' again. Isobel gathers the remaining cards and puts them to one side before slowly turning over the ones Regina chose, one by one. "The lovers," she says. "The high priestess ... and the fool." _

_She cocks one eyebrow, waits for the woman to elaborate, but she doesn't, instead raises her eyebrows in surprise, then moves the cards to one side. "May I have your hands please?" _

_Regina moves her hands forwards, places them palms up inside the little hands of the blonde, then watches her eyes drink in something Regina evidently can't see. _

_"__Hm," she starts, then goes quiet._

_"__What is it?" Ruby says, sitting forward. "What do you see?" _

_Isobel frowns, then meets Regina's eyes. "You have such terrible darkness in your past." She feels her whole body stiffen, clenches her jaw, wants nothing more than to stop this woman before she really gets going, then has to remind herself that none of this is real anyway. She must be doing something or saying something that is giving herself away. _

_"__I'm very sorry for the loss you suffered," Isobel says, eyes closed, head moving slightly, and it makes Regina frown, watching, unblinking and unnerved. Because she can only be talking about Daniel, but how on earth does she know about that?_

_She must have seen it on the news. That is the only logical explanation. _

_"__The cards you've chosen are very interesting," she says when she opens her eyes. "Something new, something exciting and consuming is coming your way. If you just open yourself up to the possibility of change ... your life will turn-"_

_"__My life will turn what?" Regina snaps, because she doesn't like what this woman is saying. "You don't think my life is just fine the way it is?" _

_It isn't, she knows it isn't. Working all the hours god sends taking care of a four year old, and since Emma got out of prison, she's been taking on the cases of those a little less than morally grey just to fill the void whenever Henry goes to stay with her. Nothing about any of those things are fine._

_"__That isn't what I'm saying," Isobel says. "All I mean is that if you're open to it, there is a happiness on its way into your life, you will be mother to a son who isn't your own, you'll-"_

_"__I already have mothered a child who isn't my own!" She says, voice biting, verging on a yell, and it's only when Katherine sends her a warning of 'Regina', does she attempt to reign in her temper. _

_Isobel shakes her head sadly. "It's okay to love again, you know. Not everyone will leave you, not everyone will hurt you." Her voice is kind, but it just makes Regina madder, makes her tears prick her eyes and her muscles clench tighter. "Not everyone who should love you will betray your trust ... I'm very sorry for the things he has done to you."_

_Regina snatches her hands away, pushes against the table and stands so fast the chair topples backwards. She's unnerved and feels sick, and she hopes to hell Katherine and Ruby aren't clever enough to figure out what this bitch of a woman means, because she's never told a soul about her step-father, about his wandering eyes and his sleazy comments. Because that is the only thing this woman can be talking about ... Lee is the only person in Regina's life who should just love her, not lust after her. It makes bile rise in her throat, makes her want to take a shower and scrub her skin, because she feels dirty just thinking about him. _

_Ruby and Katherine are standing now too, looking at her in alarm. _

_"__We're leaving." Regina orders, turns on her heel to walk back out to the front of the shop, but is halted in the doorway when Isobel shouts after. _

_"__Do you have a tattoo?" _

_Regina turns, glares at the blonde with a icy expression. "No. I do not have a tattoo." _

_The clairvoyant frowns, gestures to the inside of her forearm. "Are you sure? Not one here, on your arm? I can see a lion. A crest, it's ... it's right here. I can see it." _

_"__Yes I'm sure I don't have a tattoo, Jesus, what kind of psychic are you anyway? Goodbye." _

"Regina?" Robin says, a little more firmly, pulls her from the memory. She shakes her head, can't take her eyes off the black mark staring her in the face, and was this it? The happy, all consuming 'thing' Isobel told her of? She strokes her thumb over the ink.

"You ... you have a tattoo," is all she can say.

"I do. Lost a bet with John when Mulan needed her first person to tattoo when she was learning ... why is this troubling you?"

Regina shakes her head, then forces her eyes away, looks up at him and smiles. "It's not, I just ... I just didn't know you had it, that's all."

He knows something is up, from the skeptical expression on his face and the way his brow knits together in the middle, she knows that he knows something is troubling her, but he lets it drop. Probably decides she's talked about the woes of her life quite enough for one afternoon.

They leave not long after (something she's glad of because she thinks there's a good chance she looks like shit - is probably sporting panda eyes and streaky skin ... Robin assures her she looks as beautiful as ever). They walk side by side in silence down to a taxi rank outside the station. They're close, shoulders brushing together with every step, and both hold the shopping bags full of Roland's birthday presents in the hands that aren't next to one another. Regina feels her heart flutter every time his fingers knock into her own.

It happens a few times, and then as the walk down the concrete steps that lead to and from the shopping center, Robin hooks their fingers lazily together. The gesture makes her heart stop and speed up at the same time; this is definitely not right, she should pull her hand away ...

But she doesn't; won't or can't, enjoys the feeling of his skin against hers too much to let go, thinks she'll just wait until they have no choice when climbing into the back of a cab. Not that that makes any difference, because when they're sitting in the taxi, bags at their feet, relaxed back into the worn leather of an old car, he laces their fingers together again.

-§-

She dreams of him again that night, but it isn't quite the same heated dalliance it had been the night before. This time, she lies on top of his body, completely naked, reveling in the feel of his body beneath hers, and she feels spent, thinks maybe this dream occurs after they've worked each other to climax. Something she's thankful for when she wakes the next morning, void of the uncomfortable ache between her thighs, sweaty skin and heaving chest that had greeted her the morning before.

It's still odd, still inappropriate and unprofessional, but she can hardly help what happens in her mind during the peaceful hours of slumber, can she? And if it makes her feel warm and safe, loved and cherished, even if only in her dreams, who is she to will that to stop?

It's Sunday afternoon when she next sees him.

He's invited her to Roland's birthday, text and said he'd love it if she came along and how could she refuse? Regina grins as she stands outside his house, waiting for someone to open the door, at the sound of at least a dozen squealing children. Aurora is the face that greets her when his front door finally swings back.

"Ah, Regina," she says, leans in to kiss Regina's cheek as she passes her the card and parcel she's brought for Roland. She hopes Robin will forgive her for the present, knows she needn't have bought anything really, but couldn't resist when walking past an old-style sweet shop in Convent Garden the day before and saw a fire truck in the window that was fit to burst with every kind of sweet imaginable. "So lovely to see you again."

"You too," she replies with a smile, then laughs a little as there's a very loud crash from the garden, and Aurora hurries off.

"Michael! Put that down!" She hears Robin yell from the kitchen.

She follows the sound of his voice, walks past a group of adults congregated around the TV in the front room. She spots John and Tuck, gives them a wave, then finds Robin refilling a jug of orange juice, carefully watching the children running amok in the garden, which has been greatly over taken by a large bounce house. Mulan is jumping in the center of it, and making a game out of her falling in a heap then letting the children pile on. Regina lets out a chuckle, and it pulls his attention.

"Well hello there you," he says, a wide smile spreading across his face. One she returns happily.

"Hey," she says, walks towards him, then stops short a foot and leans her hip against the sink. "So ... this is fun."

Robin lets out a sound that lies somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Who knew thirteen four year olds could be so demanding? Thank god for Mulan or I'd have locked them all out the house by now. She appears to have more energy then all of them put together."

"I remember it well," she laughs, picks up a stray tea towel and busies herself wiping the plates and cups left to soak on the counter.

"Did you have a good day yesterday?" He asks, placing the jug on the table then moving to prepare lunch. It's simple food, sandwiches, cut up fruit, a huge bowl of chips - _crisps_ - and some birthday cake, the kind of party food children will wolf down in minutes but won't sit too heavy on their tummies, the kind that will, in short, let them resume jumping on the giant inflatable castle just as soon as the last bite goes down.

"Yeah, it was actually really nice. Mel and I went for coffee, and did some shopping. Covent Garden is lovely," she says, and it suddenly occurs to her how domestic they must look. Her drying up, him prepping lunch; the pair of them standing side by side, talking casually and doing something so mundane. Only, next to him, it doesn't feel quite as chore-like as it should. Being around him feels differently now, even texting him has felt a little off-kilter since she sobbed in his arms two days prior. It's like they're more equal, she knows his darkest parts and now, he knows one of hers too. It's nice, sets an openness between them that wasn't there before, and suddenly she doesn't feel like she's standing next to her client ... she feels like she's standing next to her _friend_.

Her very hot, knee-weakening, skin puckering, smile inducing, amazing-in-bed-in-her-dreams, friend. One that flirts and holds her hand, one that she can't help but want to fuck until she blacks out and -

Her phone rings, and it pulls her from her thoughts. She sets the plate and towel down, delves into her purse she'd abandoned on the counter and grins when Emma's name flashes up on the screen.

"You're up early, aren't you?" She greets, notes the time back home is nine ... far too early for Emma on a Sunday.

"Yeah well, the kid wouldn't let me lie in, not after I promised he could talk to you. I tried Skype but it didn't work?"

"My mac is back at the hotel, sorry. How is he? How's ... everyone?" She asks, leaning back on the counter. She smiles at Robin as he moves around her, invades her personal space to reach behind her and grab some paper towels from the window ledge ... not that she minds.

"He's good, everyone says hey ... we all miss you though."

Regina scoffs. "You can't stand me when I'm there and now you miss me all of a sudden?"

"Yeah well ... apparently your pain in the ass tendencies are also creature comforts. How's the case going?"

"It's good," she says, listens to Emma yell down the receiver for Henry to come and say hello.

"You're not regretting going, though, right?" Emma asks, and it makes Regina smile.

Robin is setting out the table for lunch, counting the plates, filling the cups ... there's a tea towel slung over his shoulder, and he must feel her eyes on him, because he looks up, meets her gaze and grins back.

"Guys! Lunch is ready!" He shouts through the window, then gives Regina a wink.

"No," she tells Emma. "No regrets whatsoever."


	6. Chapter 6

Two days later, Regina can't go into Gold's office like she planned. There's been a leak. And a huge one, by the sounds of it (she could hear him turning the air blue in the background as Belle called and tried to explain that whenever Gold wanted to meet them, it would be in a conference room at her hotel). Something, she doesn't admit out loud, that just makes life easier for her.

Instead, she decides to make good on her promise to check out Graham Hunt, and gets a taxi to Scotland Yard. She really needs to start taking the tube more, but Gold reimburses the cash she spends on cabs, as long as she keeps the receipts, so the tube always loses its charm. It isn't far from Westminster, and Regina gets the clearest of view of Big Ben she's had since arriving. She pulls her cell out as quickly as she can, and snaps a photo from the window before emailing it to Emma to show Henry straight away. With any luck, her nephew will be mightily impressed with her current location - he's already ordered her to go to the Harry Potter sound stage, (because it doesn't matter if they've got one in the States, that isn't where Harry Potter was filmed).

So Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament aren't quite as cool as a big purple bus and a castle, but, hopefully they'll still earn her some brownie points back home.

The Metropolitan Police Service is split into two huge buildings. Each is shaped like an angular box and covered from ground to roof in windows that mirror their surroundings. One is taller, thinner, makes Regina think maybe she could see Greater London in its entirety if she stood on the top. The other is shorter, but long, and takes up nearly the whole street.

She cranes her neck back to see the first building tower above her as she reaches the entrance, passes a rotating sign that reads New Scotland Yard, then makes her way inside.

She is greeted by a young woman sitting behind a large white desk. She's pretty enough, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wearing a crisp white shirt and grey slacks. "Good morning," she says with a smile. "How can I help?"

"I'm actually looking for one of your CIDs, Graham Hunt? I'm the attorney for a guy he arrested last week, and I just wondered if I could pick his brains about something?" She asks, keeping her tone sweet.

"Sure, of course. Just take the lift up to three, and then follow the corridor round, you'll find him. I'll call up and tell him you're here."

Regina nods in gratitude, then makes her way over to the elevators, and up three floors to find him.

Hunt's desk is in a sea of others, when she finds the right room, and even then, she nearly turned on her heel and walked out because she didn't think she had a hope in hell's chance of finding him without yelling out his name for the whole room to hear. The only reason she is now sitting on the worn, uncomfortable chair that sits adjacent to his desk, is because he saw her coming.

"So Miss Mills," he starts, accent thick against her name.

"Regina, please," she implores with a soft smile.

He's good looking. Very good looking - has an intensity about him most men lack and looks achingly good with the serious expression he wears. Looks even better when he smiles, which he is now, because it's the second time she's asked him to call her by her first name.

"Regina," he corrects. "What is it I can do for you?"

She takes a deep breath. "Robin Locksley."

"Ah," he says with a nod. "You're defending him?"

"I am."

"So you must work for Mr. Gold."

She arches one eyebrow. "Yes."

"Well I don't know what help I'll be here. I told him everything I know about the case. I also recall telling him to leave me out of it too, but, you're here. So I suppose he didn't quite understand."

Regina forces herself to smile sweetly. "Well, he ... ah, requested I come and introduce myself."

Graham chuckles, bites the inside of his cheek as he relaxes back into his chair and gauges Regina for a moment. She uses his attention to her advantage, and rests one elbow on his desk while slowly crossing her legs and flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"I don't think that man simply requests anything from anyone. I do appreciate him sending you though. You're much easier on the eyes than he is. It's a very good way to start a Tuesday."

She lets out a laugh, leans in a little closer and looks at him under her thick, dark eyelashes. Okay, so, she's flirting. Shamelessly, apparently. But he's nice looking, and has an accent that's making her go ga-ga. It's not appropriate (since when has she done anything by the book from the second she arrived here?), but it might just get her some answers on Jonathan Prince. So help her, if she has to spend all morning teasing this charming Irishman in order to help her client, to help Robin, then she will damn well use every cliche in the book.

"Yeah well, you should be glad he sent me and not my colleague."

"Oh?"

She presses her lips together with an mmm, and a nod, then says, "Mel would eat you for breakfast."

Graham catches his bottom lip in his mouth as another chuckle escapes his throat. "Is that so? You're not going to do that?"

Regina scrunches her nose and shakes her head. "I already ate."

They size each other up a second before Graham schools his expression back to the serious one she was greeted with, and then their moment has gone, and all she can do is hope that their banter has put her in his good graces long enough for him to at least listen to what she has to say.

"I'm not here about Robin's case," she confesses. "Well, not directly, at least."

He frowns. "Then why are you here?"

She squints her eyes, tries to figure out how best to get her point across. "How long have you been in this job?" She asks eventually, and his expression turns curious.

"Fifteen years," he replies with a shake of his head, like he can't quite, or doesn't want to remember the exact number.

"Then I'm assuming you've become quite skilled in knowing when someone is guilty and when they're not. I get that you were probably backed into a corner with the evidence on this case, not to mention the fact that Robin's only alibi has gone AWOL. But can you sit there and tell me honestly that you believe he murdered Liam Jones?"

Graham doesn't say a word, holds her gaze for a moment, then drops his eyes to twiddle with the pen in his hands.

"I've been a defense attorney for ten years, and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, Robin is innocent. He genuinely believes a man named Jonathan Prince is behind all of this."

There it is. The glimmer of recognition in his eyes at the sound of Prince's name. Gold must have spotted it when he came to see Graham Hunt last week.

"Do you know who he is? Prince?" She presses on, and he sighs.

"Of course I know who he is. I also know that even if he is behind this, we don't have a cat in hell's chance of proving it. He's too clever for that, and in all the years we've been dealing with his messes, he has never once gotten his hands dirty. You want my honest opinion, Regina? No, I don't think Robin killed Liam. But whoever it was, I can assure you right now it wouldn't have been Prince."

Rage ignites in her chest; rage that shouldn't be as strong as it is, but she can't quite believe what she's hearing, and a fierce need to stand up for Robin suddenly makes itself known. Even though she's only just that second told Hunt she would understand his reasons for making the arrest when he didn't truly believe it, Regina finds she's still floored that he did so. "You don't believe he did it, but you arrested him anyway?"

Graham leans in, frantically answers with a whispered shout so no one around them can hear. "Of course I don't think he did it. But I had no choice, okay? The chief inspector was breathing down my neck for progress, we had cold, hard evidence that told us Robin was at the scene, with his prints on a gun ... what else could I have done?!"

She wants to shout, wants to explode with fury at this halfwit for putting Robin through what he's gone through in the past two weeks - but she can't. Instead, she takes a very long, deep inhale and reigns in her hot temper. Shouting will get her nowhere.

"Do you have anything that could link this back to Prince? Even if it's just a whisper of something. I'm grasping at straws here, Graham."

He shakes his head sadly. "He's too good at covering his tracks. Unless you can find Killian and convince him to give up his boss, then you've got no choice but to win this case with what's in front of you."

-§-

She meets Robin later that morning - finds he's the only one who can take her mind off of the worrying niggle that Hunt settled in her stomach. She tells him everything Graham told her (thinks maybe she shouldn't, but then he knew something was wrong the second she'd arrived at the coffee shop, and well, she's always been hopeless at lying).

If it concerns him anymore than he already is, he doesn't let on. Instead, he just orders her a latte, tells her to stop stressing, and that he has faith in her and the team to do this without needing to dig dirt up on his son's uncle.

It eases the worry ... slightly.

The waitress is just sitting a tall glass of steaming, frothy coffee in front of her when Robin pulls out his phone and begins showing her photos of Roland. A grin springs on Regina's face.

"Oh my god," she says, taking the phone from his hand to get a better look.

His son is standing in their kitchen, chest puffed out, proud as punch and standing as tall as he can make himself, wearing a brand new school uniform. She shakes her head as her eyes drink in the photos (there are a few, and she scrolls through them all). Grey trousers, white shirt, red tie and matching red sweater that looks too big - he looks so cute her heart nearly explodes.

"Robin, he looks adorable. You must be so proud! I completely forgot today was his first day. Did he go in okay?"

Robin nods happily. "He was very nervous as we got there, but once he saw the classroom and the other kids, he was fine. I've got to pick him up in an hour. They only do half days for the first week."

"That sweater drowns him," she says with a laugh, and he snorts.

"I know, but that was the smallest size I could find."

"He'll grow into it soon enough," she says, then stares a little harder at the phone in her hands. "God, he looks so much like you in this one. It's crazy, when I first met him I was sure he must look just like Marian but ... no. Bar the hair and eyes ... he's all you."

Robin meets her eyes and smiles warmly, before swigging down the last of his coffee.

They pick Roland up together, walk back with him. He holds each of their hands, swinging his arms between them, talking so fast about his morning, Regina struggles to catch every word. By the time they've reached the house, he's quiet - has completely worn himself out - and just as he's dropping off, sprawled out on the couch with Ruff under his arm, Regina excuses herself, and goes back to her hotel to call Gold about what Graham told her.

-§-

That weekend she goes to Robin's again, for lunch this time, and weighed down with numerous textbooks on the prison system in the UK. Not that any of those books see the outside her bag - the second she arrives, Regina is pulled into a rather serious game of Hungry Hippos with Roland. She loses more than once, but only because she ignores whenever Roland sneakily pushes the 'food' under the hippos mouth with his hands.

Robin is in the kitchen, busying himself cooking, and making the whole house bask in a glorious aroma that makes her stomach gurgle. She gets up, leaves Roland making up a new game after having abandoned the hippos in a fickle manner only children are capable of, and joins him in the next room.

"Whatever you're cooking ... it smells incredible," she says with a slight groan.

Robin laughs. He's at the sink, washing various pots and pans with soapy hands; the suds stand out against his tanned skin, and Regina has to cross her arms to fight the urge to reach out and curl her own fingers in his. "It's only a casserole."

"It's more than I could manage."

"It's meat and vegetables, Regina, there's not really much that can go wrong there." He wipes his hands dry, throws her a bemused look, then pulls out a chair at the dining table for her to take a seat.

She scoffs, "I haven't used my stove in the entire time I've lived in my apartment. It may well be just 'meat and vegetables' to you, but to me, it's a feast fit for a Queen."

He takes the seat next to her, then lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his face with his hands (she thinks in order to wake up). Regina frowns a little. He doesn't seem his usual self today, doesn't seem quite so carefree (he isn't carefree, she knows that really, not with a murder charge hanging over his head, but he's usually much more laid back about it, doesn't usually let anyone see what he's feeling about it. She's only ever noticed this particular look whenever he thinks no one else is watching, and even then, it's gone in a second). She leans forward, mirrors his elbows resting on the table and tilts her head to one side.

"Hey, you okay?"

He gauges her for a moment, then sighs again. "I'm fine," he assures her, but then must catch the skepticism in her face, because he goes on with, "I just feel like I'm in limbo at the moment. It seems to me like we've hit a wall with Jonathan Prince and no one can find where Killian's fucked off to, and now, with what's in the paper this morning ... it all just feels like I'm fighting a losing battle."

"Paper? What are you talking about?"

"My case ... it's in the Times this morning," he says, gets up to furry through the recycling box that sits by the back door and pulls out that morning's copy of the Richmond and Twickenham Times. Regina all but snatches it, lets her eyes scan the front page, flicks through when he tells her it's about a third of the way in, and then feels a scowl fix on her face when she finds it.

_Local furniture builder Robin Locksley, 38, has been charged with the murder of Surrey-born Liam Jones. Mr. Jones' body was discovered in Barnsbury Wood on 19th August 2014 with a gunshot wound to the chest. Locksley was seen leaving the crime scene and is believed to have disposed of the gun in a nearby dumpster. Police have yet to issue a statement on the investigation, though a source close to the Times informs us that Scotland Yard detective Graham Hunt has ear marked the investigation as an open-and-shut case. Though Locksley has no prior convictions, we have discovered he was questioned in relation to a burglary in the London area in 1998, but never charged due to lack of evidence. Having been granted bail nearly two weeks ago, he now awaits his trial date while residing in his home in Richmond. Locksley is a single parent to his four-year-old son. No word yet on how Jones' family is taking this news. _

Regina looks up at Robin when she's finished reading, feeling her shoulders sag as she takes in the the sad expression on his face. "I had no idea about this, I'm so sorry."

He shrugs a little. "There's nothing much we can do about it now, is there? I called Gold this morning as soon as I saw it."

"I can imagine that went down well," she says with a sympathetic frown, then has to push down the irritation she feels that Gold hadn't called her the second he found out.

"He mentioned damage control in passing, but I'm really not fond of that idea. I don't want to draw any more attention to this. So far, it's a small sidebar in a local paper. I just feel like if we do anything to rock the boat, it will be front page news of a trashy tabloid. And I don't want that. I don't want anything that may harm Roland in the long run."

Regina nods, agrees, then says, "We'll deal with this however you want us to, but ... if this gets worse, we may not have a choice but to come forward with your side."

Robin grimaces, then sighs. "Well, let's just wait and see what happens."

Roland comes bounding into the kitchen before she gets a chance to answer him, skipping right up to Robin's side, and even when he stops, he's jumping up and down. Regina feels a warm smile spread across her face.

"Daddy, Tarzan's on!" He exclaims with a gleeful squeal.

They are both pulled into the lounge by the determination of the four-year-old. Regina settles on the couch, kicks off her heels and curls her feet under her legs as the movie starts, watches as Roland, who has informed her this is in fact his favourite film ("favourite film this week," Robin tells her, "last week it was Shrek"), settles himself on his green bean bag with Ruff in his lap, and Jack at his feet.

Robin comes in the room a moment later, sets down a mug of coffee on the arm of the sofa for her, then moves to sit right next to her. Regina's feet slip down as the couch cushion dips under his weight, until her toes are tucked under his thigh. She doesn't move them, instead relaxes back into the leather and sips on her coffee.

They are about an hour into the film when John calls. Robin gets up when he answers, leaves her feet cold and missing the pressure and warmth his body had against them. Roland vacated his bean bag about ten minutes after sitting in it; has moved to various spots around the room a few times since then. Now, he's lying on his tummy on the opposite end to the couch, engrossed in his favourite characters, giggling and humming along to the music, and after a moment, Regina finds she is no longer watching Tarzan swinging through the trees, she's watching him. This sweet, funny little boy. The apple of Robin's eye, and it's no wonder, because he is a character in his own right, and a wonderful credit to Robin's parenting.

"Everything okay?" She asks when he comes back into the room.

Robin sighs, and she gets the feeling his day has just gone from bad to worse. "John's had an accident with a power drill, he thinks he's going to have to go and get his hand glued."

"Oh my god, is he okay?"

"I think so. Unfortunately, he was half way through finishing a piece we need to get shipped out on Monday afternoon. I'm going to have to go and finish it."

Regina winces, then reaches to grab his hand and squeeze it. She realizes, they've been doing that when they're alone, touching each others hands out of comfort or just plain absentmindedly ever since she told him about Katherine. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Could you stay here and watch Roland for me?" He asks, and she nods before he's even finished his sentence. "I would take him with me, but the quicker I get this finished, the quicker I can get home. And work doesn't tend to get done quickly when he's running under my feet."

"Of course I can," she says.

"I've turned the stove off, I'll pick us up dinner on the way home. He's already had his lunch, but there's stuff for snacks in the fridge if he gets hungry, and-"

"Robin, I've raised a child. I got this, just go."

He nods, squeezes her hand back appreciatively and then moves to kneel in front of Roland, who protests at the way Robin is now blocking his view of the TV. Regina pauses the film.

"Alright, little man. I've got to go into work and help John, but you're going to stay here with Regina, okay?"

Roland makes a face. "Can't I come with you?"

Robin shakes his head. "Not today," he says, but before Roland can protest, Robin, cool as cucumber, pulls out his next sentence. "I need you to stay here and look after Regina, because she doesn't know how Tarzan ends, nor how to feed Jack, and I really think she'll need your help."

She presses her lips together to bite back a laugh as Roland frowns at his father, ponders what Robin has asked of him, then nods firmly. "Don't worry, papa. I'll show Regina how to feed Jack."

"That's my boy," Robin tells him proudly, then stands to kiss the top of his head. Regina presses play on the remote again, then watches Robin as he grabs his keys and wallet, then slides his phone into his pocket. He tells her he'll be back soon, and then without warning, like it's the most natural thing in the world, he swoops down and presses a kiss to her cheek.

Her face flushes as she murmurs goodbye, something she doesn't think he notices, and then he's shutting the door with a bang.

-§-

The afternoon starts well enough. Regina and Roland finish watching Tarzan, they sit and do some colouring, he tells her all about how Jack was grandpa's dog before Daddy got him, then shows her where they keep Jack's bowls and food (also where they keep the water, and she's too amused to tell him she knows how to fill the dish up from the tap).

It's both refreshing and nostalgic, caring for a child on a weekend, having a lazy Saturday to watch movies and do messy activities, to mess up the whole house playing with toys, then leaving them strewn across the floor to be picked up later. It makes her ache for Henry, makes her long for the days it was just the two of them and he was this small, watching her from the table as she cut up carrot sticks for a snack, just like Roland is watching her now. She eyes the clock on the wall - it's mid morning in Boston right now, she may well call home once Roland is settled. She is desperate to know how Henry got on during his first week of school. Emma sent a photo of him on that morning, along with a quick message that he's liking fifth grade just fine, and that they would catch up with her in the week.

Well the week has now been and gone, and the fact she still hasn't heard a peep is making her feel irksome to say the least.

She puts the knife she's sliced the carrots with on the counter next to the sink, then grabs some dips from the fridge for her and Roland to tuck into while they colour.

"Thank you," he says with a polite smile as she sets down a plate beside him.

"You're most welcome, sweetheart." She kisses the top of Roland's head, then pulls forward his drawings to take a look. "These are wonderful. We need to keep them to show Daddy later. We can put them on the fridge next to your others, how would you like that?"

Roland nods enthusiastically. "Yep," he says mid bite. "Those are ones I did at school," he tells her, and she nods, tells him she knows after reminding him not to talk with his mouth full.

"Are you liking going to school?" She asks, casually grabbing a blank page and beginning her own drawing of a horse. Well ... it's supposed to be a horse. She never really has been one for drawing well.

Roland, however, suddenly goes quiet, and she stops her wrist from its colouring strokes in an instant, refocuses her eyes as he picks at what's left of the carrots. "Roland, honey? Did you hear me?"

He shrugs, then looks up at her, dark eyes getting wider, losing their usual sparkle. "I don't like school."

The fact that he's said it out loud almost floors her. Robin has already told her they've had tears every morning since the first day of school, but he's also told her Roland is fine once he gets there. She just assumed he's adjusting to a new routine, had assured Robin that Henry had been much the same when he first started kindergarten. "Well, why not?" She asks softly.

He shrugs again.

Regina pushes her chair out from under the table, then holds out her arms and pulls Roland up from his seat and into her lap. He comes willingly, drops his head against her shoulder as she wraps both arms around him and presses another kiss into his mass of dark curls.

"You know what? My nephew didn't like school when he first started either. He said it was more fun being at home with me, or his nanny, but you know what?"

"What?"

"He gave it a little bit of time, and then he made lots of new friends to play with, and then he _loved_ going to school."

"Does he go to my school, too?" Roland asks, voice full of hope, and it makes her heart break.

"No. Henry goes to school back where I live. You remember I told you I'm from a different country from across the ocean? Well Henry lives there too, and that's where he goes to school."

"I don't want to go to school anymore," he tells her, and she squeezes him close to her body.

"I think, if you just give it a chance ... you may find you actually really enjoy going. You've made friends there, right?"

He nods. "Dashiell and Penny and Bethany. They play with me."

"You've made three friends and you've only been there a week! That is so good. I bet next week you'll make even more, and then whenever you go you'll have fun playing with them everyday." As she says it, she turns him slightly, presses her forehead against his own, and fills her voice with excitement in the hope he will feel better.

He nods again, and for moment, they both stay silent. Regina rocks him back and forth in the chair gently, lets her cheek rest against the top of his head and revels in holding a child as small as Roland. Another pang goes off in her chest for Henry.

"Regina? Can we watch Tarzan again?"

She chuckles into his hair. "Of course we can."

Regina settles herself at the desk in the lounge as Roland begins to watch the movie for the second time. She sighs after opening her Mac and scrolling through her emails - one after another from her students, all asking different questions. When is she coming back? Can she explain the difference between malum in se and malum prohibitum? Will she be back before their first semester is over? And even one from one of her second year students, who informs her that he is very much appreciating that their new professor is using the Black Letter Law approach, rather than her more favoured Socratic Method, so he actually wouldn't mind if she didn't come back just yet.

She sighs heavily again as she reads, lets her brow arch up because from the tone of these emails, her replacement at Harvard clearly has no idea how the hell to properly teach. She spends her time answering each one - as politely as she can manage - then begins a harsh email to the Dean asking where the hell she found such a dumb ass for a professor? She's acutely aware that Roland has now begun acting out Tarzan, has stripped down to his underwear (_because Tarzan doesn't wear clothes, Regina_, he tells her when she snorts out a laugh and asks what on earth he's doing, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world), and is engrossed in his imagination and the movie. Sometimes, he's saying the words with the characters on screen; others, he's just making up his own story. She has to smile - after sharply telling him to please not jump on the furniture - because it's both hilarious and endearing, and then goes back to her emails.

Robin calls not long after, and she frowns as she answers. She can't hear him, never has any cell reception in this house, unless she's standing in one particular spot in the bathroom. He's breaking up; she can just about make out that he's on his way home, but Roland is babbling on and the television is loud, and then Jack spots a bird on the window ledge outside and suddenly he's barking.

Regina presses her hand to her free ear, then tells Roland she's just going upstairs.

"Sounds like chaos there, everything okay?" Robin asks, voice finally clear as she reaches the bathroom.

"Everything is fine, Roland's just ... playing."

Robin laughs out loud. "Ah yes, all hell can break loose when my son 'plays'."

She chuckles, "Are you finished for the day? How's John?"

"John's fine, the idiot. And yes, I have finished. I'm just on my way home now, I'm going to stop off at the chippy for tea, what do you want?"

Regina frowns. "Erm ... I have no idea. What are you having?"

"Fish, chips and mushy peas, of course."

"Right, English delicacy, I forgot."

There's a beat on the other end of the receiver. "Please tell me you haven't been in this country for nearly two weeks and have yet to indulge in fish and chips?"

"Guilty as charged," she teases.

"You really are a fascinating creature, have I ever told you that?"

Regina laughs, feels her smile reach her eyes as her tells her he will get her fish and chips, and that he'll be back in thirty minutes. She hangs up, bites at her bottom lip, because it's already pushing Roland's bath and bedtime, and with any luck, she'll get to spend the evening with Robin alone and uninterrupted.

Not that that would mean anything. She just ... likes spending time with him. That's all.

She makes her way down stairs, chuckles to herself, because she can hear Roland still babbling away at what she pictures is an imaginary friend, but then she frowns a little when she reaches the bottom, stepping onto ground level. The kitchen door is open now, and it definitely wasn't before. When she enters the lounge, her hearts jumps into her throat.

Roland is straddling the arm of the couch, his chest puffed out as he 'wrestles' with whatever it's supposed to be, and the knife, the huge, sharp, shining knife Regina had used to cut up his carrots is sticking out of a huge tear, blade buried in the fabric, handle the only thing visible.

"_ROLAND_!" She shouts, moves quicker than lightning to remove the knife out of his reach before yanking him from the couch and standing him in front of her. He blinks as she checks his body for any sign of injury, her heart still pounding behind her ribcage. He's clearly surprised at her yelling. "What were you thinking, getting that knife?! You could've seriously hurt yourself!"

He looks at her, nibbles on his bottom lip, then looks back helplessly at the couch. "I was just playing Tarzan, Regina. It was a crocodile. I had to kill it."

For a moment, she's silent, simply stares aghast because there are no words that come to mind as the pound, pound, pounding of her heart settles down. She grips his wrists, rubs her thumbs gently on the back of his hands the way she used to do while apprehending Henry. It's motherly and meant to show how much she cares for the tiny toddler, even though her voice is firm and doesn't waver as she says, "That was so dangerous, Roland. Knives aren't toys, we must never play with them. And just look at what you've done to the couch!"

She gestures behind him, winces at the great, ugly hole now embedded in Robin's leather sofa, then moves Roland's attention back to her with her finger and thumb gently guiding his chin up. "What will Daddy say when he gets back, hm?"

His bottom lip begins to tremble, thick tears well up in his dark eyes faster than Regina could anticipate, and for a second, she thinks maybe she shouldn't be yelling at him. He isn't her child, after all. But then the mother-mode she drops so easily into with Henry rears its head, and she sticks by her guns.

"We don't have to tell Daddy," he says, voice cracking as his eyes start to leak.

"You don't think he'll notice this rip you've made in the couch?"

"We can tell him Jack did it."

"Oh no, young man. You're going to tell Daddy exactly what happened when he comes home, and that you were playing with a knife. You should know better than that, hasn't Daddy ever told you they're not toys?"

Roland nods, "I just wanted to kill the crocodile like Tarzan."

Regina closes her eyes, forces herself not to lose her temper any more than she already has. "Next time you want to kill a crocodile, I suggest you use a pretend knife, okay? One that won't hurt anybody."

"I'm sorry, Regina," he apologises, and then the flood gates really do open. He sobs. Shoulders shaking, breath catching, tears and snot running down his face, and then she just feels bad. Regina pulls him into a hug.

"Thank you for apologising. I'm sorry I had to yell, okay? But you really scared me, please promise me you'll never do anything like that again." He nods, buries his head further into the crook of her neck. "Okay then," she says, finally feeling calmer. She pulls back to look at Roland, wipes his face with her hands, and then ushers him into the hallway.

"You're going in a time out, buddy. You're to sit on this step and not move until I say so, okay? I want you to think long and hard about how serious this could have been."

He nods, then plonks himself down on the third step of the stairs, buries his head in his arms and hunches over - not quite, but almost in the fetal position. He looks so small, still in just his underwear, and for a second, she's tempted to let it slide, to let his apology be enough, but swallows down the sympathetic side of her heart, because he needs to learn that all actions have consequences, and she needs to reiterate something so he won't _ever _touch a knife again.

She's in the lounge when the front door opens fifteen minutes later, examining the fraying edges of the tear in the couch, wondering just what the hell she's going to say to Robin when he rounds the corner in a minute.

She hears him before she sees him, asking Roland why on earth he's sitting on the stairs; listens intently as Roland hiccoughs, then tells him he's got to stay there until Regina tells him he's allowed to get up. She moves quickly, throws the blanket that's on the back of the couch over the arm - covers Roland's butchering wound, then stands up straight with a sheepish smile when Robin comes into the front room.

He looks slightly bemused, holding a brown paper bag filled with food in one arm, then drops his keys onto the desk where she's abandoned her laptop.

"Do I even want to know what he's done?" He asks.

She hollows her cheeks, ponders his question for a second, then asks, "That depends. Just how attached to this couch are you?"

He frowns then, asks her to wait one second while he moves to put their dinner in the kitchen, then comes back and sits at the desk. "Okay, hit me with it."

She winces. "While I was upstairs talking to you, he got a knife out of the kitchen and sliced through the arm," She says it fast, without a breath, then watches as his expression drops.

"He _what?_"

"I'm so, so, sorry! He said he was being Tarzan and ... killing a crocodile." Regina's hand comes up to her mouth, and she nibbles at her thumb nail nervously as Robin gets up and pulls back the throw. He stares at the hole in the leather, and for a split second, she genuinely thinks he's about to blow his top.

When he starts laughing - really laughing - it throws her.

"You're ... you're not angry with me?" She asks, bewildered, because from the second she put Roland in his time out, she's done nothing but panic that Robin would be furious that his child nearly maimed himself under her care.

"Angry? Regina, he's a little boy. Little boys do naughty things sometimes. Of course I'm not angry with you. You seem to have handled the whole thing rather well, especially if he's still sitting on that step without protesting."

"But he could have been seriously hurt."

"But he wasn't," he says, again, looking bemused. That is just so Robin, she thinks, always letting go of the '_what if'_s' so easily, so laid back and chilled, and if she wasn't so relieved, she'd be annoyed at his ability to not live in the past like she does. She presses her hand to her heart and lets out a breath, and Robin chuckles. "Come here, you," he says, and pulls her into a tight embrace.

She falls into his arms, revels in his body pressed against hers, in his strong arms tightly surrounding her frame, and for a split second, she breathes him in. He smells exactly like her - _his_ - hoodie does, like soap, outside and furniture, and right now a little like fresh sweat, because it's the end of the day and he's been working all afternoon. It's a smell she's beginning to associate with comfort and warmth, a smell that's quickly becoming one of her most favourite in the world - right next to the way Henry's hair smells right before bedtime.

Robin doesn't yell at Roland again, instead brings him to sit on his knee in the lounge and re-explains how naughty he's been, and that he must never do anything like that again. He makes the boy say sorry to Regina one more time, for scaring her and stressing her out while he wasn't there.

After they finish their tea - she pulls her hat off for his food choice, the fish and chips _are _very nice, but she leaves the peas - Robin sends Roland to bed early, and before she knows it, it's just the two of them.

The night presses on, and not once does the conversation stop. He pours them both a glass of wine, then settles on the couch next to her as the X Factor starts up on the TV. They talk a little more about his case, he tells her he's worried about how this is all affecting Roland, because he knows children are so intuitive, and while he's trying his hardest to keep Roland out of it, he realises his son must be picking up on some things. Regina tells him what Roland told her about school, then goes on to assure him once more that he's just adjusting, that he'll be in a routine before Robin knows it, and then the morning tears will stop.

She tells him how much she misses her family, that she can't quite believe two weeks have flown by already, but somehow it feels like she hasn't hugged Henry in years. He listens intently, tells her it's completely understandable, considering she's completely uprooted her life, that she's bound to be feeling a little more than homesick from time to time.

The wine makes her bolder, and she tells him that feeling goes away whenever she's around him, and then suddenly, they're shifting positions. She turns in towards him, rests her legs against his as one of his arms reaches over the back of the couch while the other is placed carefully on her thigh - not too high, not high enough for her insides to start burning, but still high enough for her heart to flutter. They've never sat this close before.

She finds she doesn't care, that for once, she's going to pretend she isn't his lawyer, that he isn't her client, that they're just two friends enjoying some quality time together on a Saturday night, with wine and decent conversation. For once in her life, she's going to relish in the fact that a good looking man, that she really, *really* likes, is paying her so much attention, and seemingly, enjoying doing so.

It gets late fast, too fast for Regina's liking, and as midnight strikes, she lets out a yawn, and drops her head back as his hand absentmindedly strokes her hair.

"Yeah, watching my four-year-old will do that to you," he says with a huff of a laugh as she tries to stifle the reflex.

She blinks tiredly and smiles. "It's been a long time since I wrangled a child his age, I'll give you that."

They watch each other for a moment, him staring contentedly into her eyes as she feels shivers run up her spine because he's playing with her hair, and that apparently _does_ things to her.

There's a voice in the back of her mind, one that's telling her to abort, to get up and move away quickly, that if she isn't careful she's just going to get hurt. But this feeling, the feeling that she gets whenever she's near him is so much stronger than the warning bells going off in the sensible part of her mind.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" He asks quietly. The question makes her heart freeze, and he must register the surprise on her face. "I'll sleep on the sofa, I'm just thinking it'll take you a while to get back to the hotel now, and you look exhausted."

She snorts. "Gee, thanks."

"Not like that. You look stunning, you always look stunning ... just ... like you could do with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep."

Yes, sleep I haven't been getting thanks to you, she thinks, because the dreams haven't stopped. The dreams she still has every night. They make her body come alive and then send her into a blind rage because she wakes up just as the orgasm she so desperately craves is about to rip through her soul ... every single time.

She tells him to call her a cab, because as much as sleeping in his bed sounds like heaven, the idea of thrashing and moaning in her sleep while wrapped in blankets that smell so strongly of him is enough to make her face flush.

The conversation turns back to his case while they wait. He tells her a little more about Jonathan Prince, about his days as a thug, and then, at the mention of the burglary he was questioned for in '98, he bites the inside of his cheek.

"What is it?" She asks curiously.

He sighs a little, then clears his throat. "The man that was with me that night ... he was one of Jonathan's gang members. We were quite close, he got out of that life not long after I did. He's the reason I got Gold to help me with the case."

Her interest peeks, and she sits up slightly. "Go on," she urges.

"His name is Neal. And he's Mr. Gold's son."

"What? Gold has a son?" She asks, gobsmacked. That was the very last thing she expected him to say.

"They're estranged, have been for years and years. I know exactly where Neal lives though. I told Gold I would tell him everything I know about Neal, but only if and when he gets me cleared."

"Well ... shit," she says, still shocked. How is it she's known Gold for fifteen years, has spent a huge amount of time with him and never known that? "It's no wonder he was so adamant to get us all here then."

"I'll be honest, I wasn't sure it was best to play the only hand I had so early but ... it got you here. So, I guess it was a good move."

She smiles at that, can't help it, wants to tell him she's glad he did, but is interrupted by the loud buzzing of her cell phone cruelly reminding her that she can't lie in Robin's arms all night and talk about anything and everything, because a taxi's now sitting outside waiting to take her away.

He walks her to the front door, pulls her into a tight hug, and this time, she doesn't miss the way he breathes her in at the exact moment she breathes him in.

"Text me so I know you're back safely," he tells her.

She does, lies in bed later that night, snuggles her head into the pillow and lets sleep fall over her body just as he replies with;

_Sleep well, lovely xxx_

-§-

A month goes by.

Four weeks of back and forth banter, of shameless flirting, 'innocent' hand holding, of play dates with Roland and walks in the park with Jack. Four weeks of hard work, of hammering Robin with questions as though she is the prosecution - and those days always end in heated arguments. Four weeks of settling on exactly who his character witnesses will be (Mulan, John and Tuck), and prepping them as frequently as their schedules allow.

Saturday nights become a weird little routine. They get fish and chips, and after Roland is in bed, cuddle up on the couch - that still has a huge tear in the arm - with wine and conversation while half watching whatever is on TV.

It occurs to her more than once, on those nights in particular, that they are acting like a couple. They are acting casually, like they've been together for years and it's just another night in for them. She has to shake those thoughts away the second they creep into her mind, because they come with nerves and a serious question of ethics, and she knows what she's doing is wrong but she's in too deep now. She likes this guy, likes him in a way that has her wondering what on earth she's going to do when this all ends and it comes to her going back to Boston.

That is another thought she shakes away, but that one is because it hurts too much.

The weather turns, and as summer ends, a crispness settles in the air first thing in morning and last thing at night. It's early October now, and Regina is sitting in the conference room of her hotel - Gold's office is still out of use, that leak brought with it a few more issues the builders had with the internal structure they were working with - swiveling back and forth on her chair, holding her phone under the desk, and rather impatiently waiting for Robin to text her back.

They've been at this for hours - it's dark outside, and she's hungry, and cranky, because she's had to cancel on Robin and Roland at the last second due to this stupid meeting. They had planned on taking her on the London Eye and then getting dinner. Now, she wants nothing more than to tell Peter to shut up and go back to preschool, but she can't because she's meant to be taking notes in regards to what he's managed to dig up on Liam and Killian Jones' family. She's supposed to be listening, not biting back silly grins with every inappropriate message she receives from their client.

_How long have you been feeling this way? I'd be more than happy to feed you :P ;) xxx _

The text tugs a smirk at the corner of her mouth. All she'd said was that she was starving. And she was talking about actual food, nothing about the immature innuendo he's so obviously taken from it.

_I'm sure you would - but my appetite for THAT isn't as pressing as my one for Thai food is. xxx_

It is. In fact, her appetite for sex is probably much more pressing than her one for actual food is. But she isn't telling him that.

_Could have fooled me, I saw the way you looked at Tuck when he took his jacket off at my house the other night. You want him, admit it. xxx_

_You got me. Tuck is the one I just can't get enough of. xxx_

His reply is almost instant, and steers the conversation to something that makes her much happier. _How long do you think you'll be? I promise Thai food will be waiting for you when you're finished xxx_

She quickly types back that she has no idea, and that she'll call him when she's done.

Gold keeps them another two and a half hours.

It's a good job she never text Robin with a time, and after a few more (highly inappropriate) messages, Regina actually did buck up and do work, and his texts died off.

They finally finish up just as her stomach is about to concave. She hasn't eaten a thing all day - something Robin has already scolded her for - and one by one, her colleagues bid her good night. She and Lennie are left alone in the room. (They take turns to clear up the mess they make, and with Jeff and Mel so gallantly taking on the task the last meeting they had, Regina is left with the redhead she isn't so keen on to re-organize the room).

They're silent at first, each going about their own little jobs, until Lennie begins to click her tongue against her teeth, stops every few seconds to stare at Regina, opens her mouth and then shuts it straight away, and in the end, Regina snaps.

"What do you want?" She asks, irritation seeping through her veins, because clearly, her colleague wants to ask her something, and isn't at all being subtle in her approach.

"You like him, don't you? Robin," Lennie asks, tilting her head to the side with a slight glint of amusement in her eyes. Regina feels her face flush, and takes a deep enough breath to stop her cheeks from turning red, but not enough that her red haired colleague will actually notice.

"What's not to like?" She shrugs, hoping her voice is conveying the nonchalance she is trying to feign. Of course she likes him. What a stupid question. But it's dangerous and sets her on edge, because if Lennie has noticed their lingering looks, or the way she knows her eyes and smile light up around him, she's utterly fucked. He is utterly fucked. If Lennie's guessed the way she feels about this client is anything but professional, then she knows it will get back to her boss. She has no doubt Gold will string her up by the wrists and beat her until death finally takes pity on her body if he ever finds out that actually, she likes this guy very much, _too _much - and Zelena, the wicked bitch, would tell him in a heartbeat. She feels a surge of annoyance toward Lennie for something that hasn't even happened yet. Something that won't ever happen, she thinks, correcting her mind.

The redhead lets out a false laugh, and goes on to pointedly tell Regina she means that she _likes _him, likes him. The term makes her eyes roll. Honestly, are they fifteen?

"I like him as much as I like any client. He's a nice guy, and he doesn't deserve what's happening to him. Do I _'like him, like him'_, as you so eloquently put it? No. Of course not." She all but barks the sentence, and prays Lennie won't see through her lie as she begins to gather her books and laptop together. She needs to keep her hands busy, needs her eyes fixed on something other than Lennie or she'll crack and blurt out the whole god forsaken story.

Lennie cocks an eyebrow, not hiding the skepticism in her face. "You've always been a terrible liar, Regina." Her jaw clenches at the redheads words. "I totally get it, that whole rugged Englishman, doting-dad-but-possible-murderer thing? It's hot." Bull shit, Regina thinks, nearly says it out loud too, but holds her tongue in favour of a more than furious approach.

She slams all her paperwork back down on the desk and turns to face her colleague. "Jesus, Zelena, how unprofessional do you think I am?" Her voice is raised, verging on a shout.

Zelena raises her eyebrows, and Regina knows her words seem to have struck a cord. "I'm sorry, It's just ... you've been spending a lot of time together, that's all."

"Because Gold put me in charge of building his character! I've been spending time with him to help this case, not because I want to get into his pants!" But by *god*, does she want to get into his pants.

"Alright, there's no need to get testy, it was just an observation."

"Yeah, well it was a pretty poor one, then." It wasn't, not at all. It was actually a pretty damn accurate one. A stiff, silent atmosphere settles on the women as Regina neatens up the files she threw down; Lennie helps, picks up the stray pages that blew to the floor and sheepishly places them by the side of her laptop.

She knows she's over reacting, that if she truly didn't feel how her colleague has guessed she feels, she wouldn't have snapped like she did. Ire creeps through her veins, though she's not entirely sure who it's directed at; herself for apparently having a crush in the most obvious fashion, Zelena for calling her out on said crush, or Robin for making her even have this crush in the first place.

Of course this would be the moment he chooses to walk in.

"Robin!" Lennie says in greeting, voice airy and light to anyone who wasn't witness to their previous conversation, but Regina can see the inappropriate delight in the redhead's eyes, hear the sarcasm in her voice.

"Ladies," he replies, politely nodding at Lennie before turning his attention to Regina.

She feels the colour drain from her face when she spies the bag he's carrying. A plain, white plastic carrier, dripping with droplets of rain water from the thundery night sky and weighed down with food.

He's brought her dinner.

Shit.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, leaning back to grip the edge of the table behind her. She pretends she doesn't already know the answer, then pointedly ignores the girly side of her heart that's blushing with, _he brought me dinner!_

"You said you wanted Thai food," he answers simply, moves closely to her right to place the bag of steaming food behind her on the table and continues talking, completely oblivious to the growing tension between herself and his other lawyer. "It's still throwing it down outside. Roland wasn't best pleased we had to rearrange taking you on the Eye, but Tuck brought him round with the promise of ice cream. Thank god he's still small enough to be bribed with sweets." She smiles awkwardly, watching as he starts pulling out the food containers filled with the mouth-watering food she's had a hankering for all evening.

She throws a glance Zelena's way.

The redhead has raised one eyebrow, folded her arms and is now looking at her with such a satisfied smirk, Regina wants nothing more than to slap it straight off her face.

"Are you alright?" He says, pulling her attention away from Lennie. He finally seems to have caught on to the fact that she hasn't engaged in conversation, hasn't thanked him for responding to her pleas and feeding her, that she isn't behaving the way she usually would around him.

But she daren't. If Lennie had reason to suspect them before then this is just adding fuel to the fire. He's brought her dinner to work for Christ's sake.

"Yeah, Regina, _are_ you alright?" Zelena asks, the wicked sneer she would be wearing if Robin wasn't there is hidden behind fake concern.

She glares at Lennie, curses her over and over again in her mind before stammering over her words. "I ... I'm fine," she says, looks back at him with a quick glance (can't quite meet his eyes), then down to the food on the table. "I just ... I wasn't expecting this. You really shouldn't have." She winces as she speaks, hates the fact that she can't talk to him like she usually does.

He notices, must, because he frowns deeply at her words, then says, "oh, I just thought you were dropping me a hint when you text saying how hungry you were."

She was dropping him a hint. A massive hint, one that he seems to have taken with ease. Because he cares about her, about whether or not she has a grumbling belly, and as she realises that, it just makes it worse.

"I think you must have misunderstood me," she says, chest rising and falling more rapidly than before. This all feels so wrong, to talk to him like he's nothing more than an acquaintance, and she hates it. Her words stick in her throat as she ruins the only good thing she's had since Katherine was so cruelly snatched from her life. But she can't not say it, can't not talk down to him because Lennie is watching her like a hawk … and enjoying every second.

Robin's frown deepens, and he steps back, away from her in a way that makes her want to chase him, fall into his arms and his warmth and never move again.

"Regina, you just tex-"

"Look, I appreciate the gesture, but it wasn't necessary. Really." She's curt. Her words are firm, _almost _snappy, and she won't look him right in the eye because she knows, even without meeting his face, that his expression is hurt filled.

"I'm sorry," he says, and it makes her heart ache even more. "I just thought ... well ... I don't know what I thought."

"You didn't think," she says, forcing herself to stand taller. But she folds her arms, uselessly protects her chest the only way she can, because she knows what she's about to say will hurt her heart. "Look, Robin ... I appreciate that you're grateful for everything we're doing but this," she gestures between them. "This is getting inappropriate. I am your attorney. I do not need you to buy me dinner. I'm just doing my job."

Robin's jaw stiffens, and for a pause, he doesn't say a word. Just looks at her, into her eyes with an expression that starts off hurt and ends up icy. "_Just _doing your job? Right. You'll have to forgive me, Miss Mills," and oh that stings, "I suppose I was under the wrong impression." He glances at Zelena, nods her goodbye, then turns on his heel. He makes it as far as the door, yanks the handle with a force it doesn't need, then turns back to meet her eyes once more. "Just so you know, I never thought you were just my attorney. I thought you were my friend. My mistake."

And he's gone without another word.

Her eyelids slowly close as the door swings back shut, and her trusty old friend, self-loathing, rears its ugly head. What the hell has she done? Regina drops her head, pinches the bridge of her nose as a heavy sigh leaves her mouth.

She wants to run after him, wants to kick off her heels and bolt down the hall, catch him before he makes the elevator and tell him she's sorry - tell him _of course_ she's his friend, that she's just being a bitch ... and an idiot for that matter.

But she doesn't, and she won't. Zelena is still staring at her - has hollowed out her cheeks and raised her eyebrows - as though Regina needs another reason to slap her silly.

"Wow," the redhead starts. "That was kind of harsh. Even by your standards."

"Shut up!" She snaps, scowling, glaring with murderous eyes as her temper flushes heat through her veins.

Regina is out of sorts for the rest of the night. She's pissed, and she's cranky, her heart hurts because she's insulted the one man she genuinely cares for, that genuinely cares for her too, and she officially hates Zelena West. Her food was abandoned on the table, but after he left, she found that she wasn't so hungry anymore. It went in the bin. And Regina went to bed.

She lies there now, tossing and turning in the dark, sighing heavily with every movement - when the hell did this bed get so goddamn uncomfortable? It's not the bed, she knows that. She throws the pillow, lies flat on the mattress. Brings it back, props herself up with three, and still, she isn't comfy. She settles on one. Her legs are under the duvet, and then they aren't. Left leg in, right leg out. Vise Versa. Her arms are up over her head, then out to the side - she tries every position possible to lull herself into a deep slumber. Nothing works.

Her headphones go in after a while; she shuffles the playlist and takes a deep breath. Music. Yes, music will help.

Music makes it worse.

Every word of every song makes her _feel_ things. Things she has no business feeling.

She makes it until eleven thirty, and then, with a heavy huff and a scowl fixed on her face, Regina gets up. She dresses quickly - throws on her sweats and his hoodie (she still hasn't given that back), pulls her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and makes her way down to the lobby.

She'll never sleep without seeing him, without making things okay. Without explaining herself.

The cab ride is tedious and long. She leans her head against the window, watches London go about its night much as it does during the day, only, slightly less busy, thinks again about what she said. Or rather, what he said to her. "_I thought you were my friend._"

But she doesn't want to be just his friend, and therein lies her problem.

She wants to be his everything.

Regina rolls her eyes to herself; just when exactly did she become as fucking romantic as Mary Margaret? Apparently, somewhere between their first meeting and Roland's birthday. She ponders the whole way to his place, going over and over again in her mind why it would be a very good idea to tell the driver to turn around and take her back to the hotel. But she doesn't, because tonight, she's listening to her heart instead of her head.

Ten minutes later, she finds herself on his doorstep.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, counting the seconds until he finally opens the door. It's cool out; not quite the temperature to warrant a heavy coat, but there's a crispness in the air as it turns from autumn to winter - one that makes her bury herself into his jacket as a shiver runs through her body.

She knocks again.

A little louder this time, not the unrelenting banging she wants to do - Roland will be in bed, after all, and the last thing she wants to do is disturb his sleep by making Jack bark because of her impatience.

He still doesn't answer.

Maybe he can't hear her ... or maybe he's looked out the window and seen her, maybe he's ignoring her on purpose. That idea hurts her more than she'd be willing to admit out loud. She knocks again, determined, trying to ignore the ache in her chest that comes with the fact she's probably screwed this up, and then, just as she's about to let a heavy sadness consume her, the latch clicks. Regina lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding, and the door swings back.

Robin is tugging a t-shirt down - gives her a glimpse of a well defined abdomen, makes her heart speed up slightly. He's dressed in sweats, hair wet, and there are tiny droplets of water glistening on his skin, and he wasn't ignoring her after all, she's just interrupted his shower.

Neither of them speak.

He holds the door back, just stares, expression completely deadpan, but the strain in his neck gives him away, and suddenly, she feels a little sheepish.

"Hey." Regina shrugs her shoulders as she speaks, presses her lips together with a tiny smile. That smile vanishes after a second. "I'm sorry."

He moves then; stands to one side to let her in, stays silent as she steps over the threshold. Jack comes trotting over, sniffs her legs curiously, and it's as she crouches to pet him that Robin leaves her, walks to the kitchen in silence and oh god, he really is pissed. She kisses Jack's nose.

"Wish me luck," she whispers to the dog, then takes a deep breath, and gets up to move into the kitchen.

He's standing with his back to her when she enters, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey - she wants to ask for one too, thinks she'll need the burn of alcohol down her throat just to get through the conversation that will either end up in an argument or ... no, by the stoney silence she's on the end of, this is definitely going to end in an argument.

"I'm an idiot." He turns as she says it, finally meets her eye, and takes a long swig of his drink. "I didn't mean anything I said, and I'm sorry. It's just ... Zelena ... she drives me crazy." Regina moves to stand in front of him, where he's leaning against the counter. She takes the glass from his hand, sets it down on the worktop behind him, moves in a little closer to his body. "Please forgive me," she says quietly, voice barely above a whisper, and his eyes warm through. "I'm a huge bitch, okay? I know that. It's just that Lennie said she thought there was something going on between us, that I have feelings for you," she looks down, "which, obviously, I don't."

Ha! Her mind laughs at the lie.

"And then you came in, and you had dinner and it looked ... it looked ..."

He sighs then. "It looked like Zelena was right."

"Right."

He stares into her eyes, wearing an expression that tells her he's trying to decide what to say, and it's only then does she realise just how close they're standing, surrounded by the darkness from the kitchen - because he didn't turn the lights on when he came in - but the brightness from the moon outside filters through the window, basks the room in a blue glow, and she should not be this close to him. Close enough to feel the warmth coming off his skin, to see the lines on his face, close enough for her to feel nervous, but for some reason, her body will not move from its position.

"I forgive you," he says eventually, a small smile tugging at his lips as she relaxes visibly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have turned up without checking with you first."

"No, I don't want you to feel like you can't do that. It was a lovely surprise, just ... poorly timed."

Robin chuckles slightly, then nods, stands up straight, closer, and it's only then does she appreciate just how small she is next to him without heels. "So," he starts, looks down as she looks up. "You don't have feelings for me?"

Regina feels her mouth drop open, feels her lungs fill with air as her mind reels with answers to that particular question, well, one answer really. Yes, of course she has feelings for him. But she can't say that out loud. Admitting it would be like admitting defeat, admitting she's weak, that she's become one of those women who would gladly put a man before her career. She also can't not say it out loud too, not when he's standing so close, when his face is getting closer to her own.

Her body reacts, seemingly of its own accord, and she gravitates towards him, closes her eyes as she goes and feels her nerves stand on end as his hands find purchase on her hips, and their stomachs press together.

"Robin," she breathes. His forehead is touching her own, their noses brushing, and she wants to lean in. Desperately wants to close the distance, this gap between them that feels like a crater, but that's really no more than an inch. Wants it so much there's a physical ache in the pit of her stomach, like she's being denied something that feels as natural as breathing. Except, when she's around him, she isn't sure she ever does take a breath.

That's what he does to her. He makes her heart speed up and stop, makes her breathe easier and not at all, makes her body relax and come alive, makes her question everything but feel surer at the same time. This is insane, and reckless, and they shouldn't, she shouldn't.

"It's okay," he whispers, moves one arm up, and rakes his fingers through her hair, sends a shudder through her body and oh god, what is she thinking? They shouldn't? They absolutely should.

They absolutely should _not_.

"We can't," she says, gulping. His breath is hot on her face, chest heaving as rapidly as her own is, but as she shakes her head, he nods.

"Yes we can."

Regina's fingers curl into his damp tee, though when exactly they made their way up to his chest, she has no idea. And then it's happening and she doesn't even bother trying to stop it, leaning in closer as his lips brush against her own, so lightly she almost doesn't feel it, except just the ghost of his skin on hers has made an inferno rage inside of her - and then he stops. To see if this is okay, to see if she wants to pull away, but she doesn't, she can't. She wants him, needs him, right now because her legs have turned to jelly and she's wet, so very wet between her thighs, and he hasn't really even touched her yet.

A small moan escapes her throat, and she catches his eye before standing on her tiptoes, readying herself for their first proper kiss when-

"Daddy?"

They spring apart faster than a notched arrow leaves its bow.

Regina attempts to even her breathing out, touches the pad of her index finger to her lips as Robin clears his throat in a frustrated grunt and moves round the table to switch on the kitchen light.

Roland is standing in the doorway, a tired scowl on his face as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness in the room, clad in Mickey Mouse pajamas and holding Ruff by the neck. Robin picks him up with ease.

"Roland, my boy. What are you doing up?"

Roland buries his head into Robin's shoulder, rubs his face against his shirt the way she's noticed he does when he's tired, and mumbles, "I have a tummy ache."

Robin tips back his head, squeezes his eyes shut in a way that tells Regina he's trying to refocus his mind the exact way she is. Roland looks up then, spies her from where his head is peeking over Robin's shoulder, and he frowns. "Regina?"

She clears her throat, moves to stand next to them - not too close, she's now decided she can never be too close to Robin ever again - and gives Roland a small smile. "Hey buddy. Not feeling too great, huh?"

He shakes his head. "My tummy hurts. Are you having a sleepover tonight?" He asks, and the question is so innocent it nearly makes her laugh. _She wishes_, flashes through her mind as Robin turns his head and catches her eye. He wants her to stay, she doesn't need to ask to know that ... and she wants to stay too. But the moment has been cruelly snatched from her grasp, and while she has no doubt she could be just as easily persuaded again, a smarter side of her head has taken over.

They have caught a lucky break.

"You know what little guy? It's just way past my bedtime, so I'm going to go back home now."

She's talking to Robin, through Roland, who has nodded and dropped his head back onto Robin's shoulder with a wide yawn. She catches his eye again, tries to ignore the obvious disappointment that resides in them, gives him a small nod, then pushes past to leave the house.

He calls out her name as she opens the front door.

"We're not finished, here. Not by a long shot."

Deep down, she knows he's right. And it's exactly that thought that both worries and excites her.


	7. Chapter 7

_It's a long one guys. It also got all kinds of porny. My bad. HUGE shout out to Jess, my lovely beta, who listens to me stress and harp on about this story 24/7, and never once does she moan. Also, Allison, for her encouragement on all the smut. Enjoy!_

Regina hits her alarm off with an unnecessary force the next morning. She hasn't slept so brokenly through the night since Henry was a baby; tossing and turning, mind overloaded with _what if_s and _what now_s. Thoughts of what could have happened last night ricochet through her head, leaving no room for anything else. Since the second she left Robin's place, the relief that _nothing_ in fact happened has been swimming around in her mind alongside the frustration that it didn't.

They kissed. Kind of. Almost. Maybe.

_Ugh,_ who knows what the hell it was?

She sighs heavily, buries herself further under her duvet in a useless attempt at clinging onto her last acceptable moments in bed. Her eyes are stinging with exhaustion ... maybe just for today she could skip breakfast and try her hand at forty extra minutes of sleep. Hell, she could push it to another hour, she's only meeting Gold and the team in the conference room four floors below her, and she's in a hotel for crying out loud. They will bring her breakfast to the meeting.

Regina turns on her side, snuggles into her pillow, then reaches out to check her cell. Her heart stops as she swipes the screen. There are two texts from Robin waiting for her, and she isn't really sure why she's so surprised, not with the way they left things last night.

_Text so I know you got back okay xxx_

Okay, so she genuinely missed that one. She should have got in touch. He always worries if she's going back through London late at night and all by herself.

The next one only came through an hour ago, early enough that he knows it could have woken her; she hazards a guess it was the first thing he did after Roland woke up and he realised she hadn't let him know she'd got back in one piece.

_Assuming you got back okay? We need to talk about what happened. Call me when you get this please xxx_

She stares at the screen for a moment, strokes her thumbs across his words as she contemplates just exactly what will be said when she next hears his voice. She can't call him. If she calls him, there's a good chance their weird little 'relationship' will come to an end (she'll remind him she's here to do a job, and quite frankly, they've done more than push boundaries now) or it will end in an argument. Both notions hurt, both leave her without Robin. She can't call.

She can text back though. Texting is safe. Texting means she can say what's on her mind without letting him hear the cracks in her voice, or hearing the disappointment in his. Texting means Regina can hide behind her screen, means she can clearly and concisely tell him her thoughts without the words and feelings getting jumbled up in her head.

_Sorry, _she types,_ didn't see your text message last night. I got back fine. I know you want to talk … _but after that, her fingers stop moving. What the hell does she say now, without sounding utterly callous? My bad, didn't mean to lead you on but now it has to stop? No. That won't do. She stares at her screen, sighs heavily, stabs the backspace button repeatedly and erases the text. She can't have this conversation over iMessage, no matter how much she may want to.

_I know we do, I'll call you tonight. Hope you're okay xxx_

She presses send before she can convince herself this is a bad idea, then throws the covers back to begin getting ready for a day that promises to be one of the longest of her life.

-§-

The hours drag by slowly, tediously, they make Regina feel like some higher power is working against her and making time stop on purpose. Robin texts back as she's sitting to breakfast.

_Let me know when you're free to talk xx_

She doesn't reply.

The hours between breakfast and sundown are spent in the company of her colleagues. She doesn't say a word to Lennie, is still too angry at the redhead for goading her into snapping at Robin. She's even more mad at herself for letting her. Mel, ever the diplomat, can sense the tension crackling between them; she babbles on about some man she met while having cocktails last night in a pathetic attempt to ease the atmosphere.

His name is Stefan. And she's pretty sure he's married, but apparently, he's hot and well, Mel has needs.

Regina has to bite her tongue, has to stop her jaw from clenching with the irritation that now even at work, she can't escape talk of sex. She can't escape conversations that make Robin, and that stupid kiss, plague her thoughts. She wants to tell Mel to shut her mouth, but she can't. Mel is the one person here she genuinely likes enough to have never sassed ... If she does it now, the blonde will know something is wrong. And if she senses it, she'll ask. And if she asks, Regina won't be able to _not _tell her what happened, and Mel ...

She will not put her friend in that position. So she bites her tongue, swallows her ire, and listens to the sordid details Mel is wittering away about how many orgasms she had last night.

Lucky bitch.

Gold is her saving grace - and never once did she think she would be grateful to see him. He bursts into the room late afternoon, Peter in toe weighed down with a stack of folders that he's struggling to keep upright, and announces to them all he's secured a trial date for Robin.

Regina's head snaps up at the news, all thoughts of Mel's sex life leaving her mind in a second.

"When did you get it for?" Jeff asks. He's been his usual silent self all morning, sitting on the opposite side of the desk, pouring over old case files of any and every crime related to Jonathan Prince. She's curious as to how he managed to get his hands on them, but thinks maybe he was a bit more persuasive to Graham than she was. She knows Gold sent him to see him after her not-so-successful attempt at digging for information.

"For the first week in December. The trial will begin at 9AM on Monday 1st, and carry through until Friday, where we'll get a verdict," he informs, clicking his fingers between Peter and the desk. The boy looks wholly relieved, and promptly drops the folders with a clatter to the surface.

"That was fast," Lennie notes, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes well, let's just say judge King owes me a favour or two. I pushed for this to be handled quickly."

"That's in six weeks," Regina states.

"Nicely deducted, Miss Mills."

"But ... We still haven't found Killian."

"I'm still waiting for French police to check through any cctv footage. We know he went from Calais to Paris, but he's been off the radar ever since," Mel says.

"Detective Hunt told me they're still searching for him too," Jeff tells her.

"Why would they be searching for him? They've already charged Robin," Regina says, a deep frown on her face.

"He still doesn't know Liam is dead," Mel says with a wince.

"I would also hazard a guess that Jonathan Prince is searching for him harder than Scotland Yard are," Jeff says with a sigh. Lennie frowns.

"What makes you think that?" The redhead asks.

"Killian was Prince's right hand man. He was put in charge of a very large shipment of cocaine leaving the country, and he bailed. Wouldn't you want to find him, if it was you?"

"How do you know it was cocaine?" Regina pipes up

"What?"

"The shipment Killian asked Robin to move. How do you know it was cocaine?" She repeats.

"I was under the impression Robin was told what he'd be smuggling," Jeff says with a shrug, swivelling on his chair in a manner so laid back, Regina wants nothing more than to slap him silly. This is serious, and here he is, talking as casually he would a conversation about yesterday's weather.

"Killian never told Robin what he wanted moving. He said merchandise. Not drugs."

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out exactly what that meant. Especially considering Prince's known alliances. Although I find it highly amusing you seem to have memorised Mr. Locksley's statement off-by-heart, but perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised considering the amount of time you've been spending together."

Regina clenches her jaw, grinds her teeth together, and she's sure the vein in her forehead is pulsing. She hates this fucking man more than she hates Zelena. Her heart is racing, and while she wants to gauge the others reactions, she wants to look at what Gold and Mel and Lennie think to his comments, she daren't. She won't stop glaring at Jeff from across the table, because looking away will mean he wins this little argument.

"As per my request," Gold says calmly, and her heart stops pounding a little. At least Gold only thinks she's been with Robin so much because he's asked her.

"Me knowing Locksley's statement means I'm just more thorough at my job than you are," she snaps, and Jeff cocks an eyebrow, but says nothing in return.

They're all still there as the sky turns darker. Regina has snatched away some of the files on Prince that Jeff had hold of, is so lost in the reports of his drug abuse, the dealing and using, the theft, one stint inside for grievous bodily harm and another for fraud that when the door to the conference room opens, she doesn't look up.

Until Gold greets the person entering.

"Mr Locksley, do come through."

Her head snaps up as her heart stops. Their eyes meet, and for a second, she's positive the world has stopped turning. She swallows hard as he takes the seat directly opposite.

"Thank you for coming here on such short notice," Gold says. Robin goes to reply, but she interrupts, stops his words as he drops his mouth open to speak.

"Where's Roland?" She mentally rolls her eyes at herself as the question leaves her lips. It's nearly his bedtime. Why on earth would Robin have brought his son with him to a meeting about his possible incarceration? Great going, Regina. Just make this worse, why don't you.

"He's at Mulan's. She promised she'd take him to the zoo tomorrow, so he's staying there for the night," Robin answers with ease, and he may well be sitting across the table, but that doesn't stop her heart from pounding at the intensity of his stare.

"Excellent, so we can keep you for a few hours. I'd appreciate Regina and Mel prepping you more for possible questions the prosecution may have," Gold says, and Robin nods, taking a beat before looking away from her stare. "Now, I called you in because I've managed to secure a trial date."

Regina watches as Robin's ears prick, and he sits up straighter.

"The first week in December. You will be a free man just in time for christmas, how about that?" Gold says with a smile that's forced. Regina nearly scoffs at him. He must really want to see his son, Neal, _badly_ if he's willing to suck up to Robin the way he is right now.

"Do you think that's enough time to build a defence? To find Killian?"

"We're waiting to hear back about a possible lead on Killian from French authorities," Lennie jumps in.

"Yes, that's plenty of time. I don't want you to worry about Killian though, Robin. He may well be an important part of this, but he's not the only thing the case is riding on. Their evidence is circumstantial, and we've proven that. Your character witnesses will help. We can quite easily prove you're a well liked, stand up member of the community, and you don't have a criminal record. Those are all key things," Gold tell him, his voice steady, and Regina can barely recognise the person he's turned into. The man who taught her would never pander to anyone, let alone a client … it's alien to see him attempting to ease Robin's insecurities about the case.

"They will bring up the robbery in 98', though," Jeff says curtly, and Regina frowns.

"Knotts may well bring it up, but nothing was ever proven, and Robin was only questioned, not charged. They'd have nothing to go on with that."

"It could go against his character though, if it's mentioned in front of a jury. Some things are hard to un-hear, Miss Mills," the Asian gears back.

"How would it go against his character? As far as the law is concerned, Robin's innocent. Anything not proven in a court brought up by Knotts will be stricken from record. The jury won't be able to take it into consideration. And, it was a _burglary_. No one was involved."

Jeff smirks, looks over at Robin, whose shoulders sag as a heavy sigh escapes his mouth. Her frown deepens. "Do you want to tell her?" Jeff asks him. "Or shall I?"

Robin rolls his eyes, then cautiously meets her gaze. "Robin? What the hell is he on about?"

Hasn't he been honest with her? What happened in 1998 that he hasn't mentioned? The fact that Jeff seems to know before she does makes rage boil in her chest. Rage and hurt. Why hasn't he been upfront?

"He isn't on about anything. There was speculation in the papers at the time of the burglary that the house I broke into wasn't empty. Apparently, there was a couple inside who weren't supposed to be there because they were having an affair, and when the police alerted the owner that there'd been a break in, they were found out. Nothing was ever proven, and I had no idea when I went to do that job that anyone would be inside. I would never have done it if that was the case."

Oh … okay, so it's not quite as bad as she thought.

"The police never mentioned anything to me. Honestly I think the media made the story up to make it sound a little juicier than it actually was."

"How will you ever know if they were making it up or not? You never bothered to find out," Jeff snaps. Robin closes his eyes, and for the first time since she's known him, she notes he looks ashamed.

"How do you know all this, anyway?" Regina asks Jeff, pulling the conversation in a different direction. She doesn't want him to feel bad for something that happened sixteen years ago, apparently, without his knowledge, and not when he isn't that man anymore.

"I guess I'm just more thorough at my job than you are," Jeff quips, throwing her own words back in her face. Her jaw clenches as she seethes, and Gold must notice the atmosphere in the room change significantly, because he interrupts them.

"Now, now children. Play nicely. If the prosecution bring up that burglary, _I_ will handle it."

She glowers at Jeff from across the table, but sits in an icy silence for the rest of the night.

It goes by quicker than the day has, and even with Robin shooting glances over at her every few seconds. Regina pretends not to notice, despite her eyes betraying her and gravitating towards him just as frequently. They catch each other a few times; her always looking away quickly as he sighs a little.

The other dwindle as the night wears on, and she and Mel are left grilling Robin for about an hour before the blonde lets out a stretch and a deep yawn.

"Okay. I'm beat. We can pick this up next week," she says, getting up.

"You're going to bed?" Regina asks, voice edging on panicked. Mel can't leave. Is she leaves, Regina will be left all alone with him and then she won't have a choice but to address the almost kiss. And she doesn't want to do that. What she _wants_ is to bury her head in the sand.

"Yeah, are you okay to finish up? My head is pounding."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that'll happen when you're awake all night," she says, pointedly reminding her friend of last night's extracurricular activities. The blonde grins, waggles her eyebrows, then bids the two goodnight.

She watches as Mel leaves, feels her heart pound against her chest. Robin's eyes are fixed on her.

And shit.

They really should not be alone.

She clears her throat, walks back over to where her laptop sits and waits as it closes down.

"Are you and I ever going to discuss what happened last night?" He asks, moving round to stand next to her.

Regina avoids his eyes like the plague, keeps hers firmly fixed on the screen as she snaps it shut, then clears her throat again before answering nonchalantly, "Nothing happened last night, we just ... had a momentary lapse in judgement. That's all."

"A lapse in judgement? That's what you're calling it?" He says, brow raised.

"That's what it was," she replies, but she still can't look up. She's messing with her Filofax now, flicking through pages filled with notes she knows like the back of her hand, pretending to take interest in the reminders she's jotted down - call Henry, send Emma's birthday present, email back the students who are still pestering her with questions she shouldn't have to be answering. The pad of her finger slides down the list, feels the dents in the page left by her penmanship, then stops when she gets to her last note.

Find Killian Jones.

She's not even sure why she wrote it, she certainly doesn't need reminding their whole case is being built on the assumption he will be found (no matter what Gold tells him). She doesn't need it to be written in bold, red ink to know the sky will fall if they don't manage to locate him, especially now that Gold has procured them a trial date.

She's lost in thought, for a moment, imagining what the outcome will be if Killian doesn't turn up, if Mel and Lennie don't come through and find him.

Robin will go to jail. Roland will lose his only parent ... she will lose her best friend.

"Regina," he says gently, as though she's kidding herself. She _is_ kidding herself, but it's still annoying - the coddling pity laced in his tone, that she is so adamantly denying there is something between them.

Robin reaches over, covers her hand with his, then pulls, grabs at her other hand for good measure as he turns her to face him. She won't look up, won't give him the chance to make her break (and she will break; she will break as easily as cracked glass if she meets those oh, so blue eyes of his). Instead, Regina stares down at their intertwined hands ... at their feet, hers bare, his booted. She looks anywhere but up, and chews at the inside of her cheek whilst desperately trying to ignore how close they are now standing.

"Shall I tell you what I think?" He ask quietly, but it's not a question, not really. He carries on when she doesn't respond. "I think if Roland hadn't walked in last night, you and I would be having an entirely different conversation right now. I think if he hadn't interrupted us, you wouldn't still be standing here trying to convince yourself that you and I are just friends."

"Robin," she starts with a sigh, "I-"

"I think last night scared you. I think we've spent the past six weeks dancing around what we really feel for each other and what happened ... what almost happened last night means we can't ignore this anymore."

He chooses that moment to dip his head, to seek out her eyes with his own, but Regina still won't look up and meet his gaze. Somehow her body has gravitated towards his in the midst of his speech, has inched closer and closer until her forehead nearly hits his shoulder. He sighs a little when she won't look up, laces their fingers together absentmindedly and then rests his cheek against her hair.

She squeezes her eyes shut, like maybe not seeing will make the conversation go away, but it doesn't. He's still there, standing steady while she drops her head into the crook of his neck. She stays there for a moment, enjoys the way his fingers are drawing patterns in her palms and up her wrists before dancing with her own, and why can't they just stay like this? Just for a moment, why can't the world stop so she can enjoy them just _being_, without fearing the consequences of what will happen if she gives in?

"I don't know what you want me to say," she says quietly, keeping her head tucked right where it is. "You already know it. You know I want us to have a relationship-"

"We act like a couple," he interrupts, his voice is so close to her ear the words make her shiver. "We flirt, and play, and talk. You walk my dog and care for my son ... whether you want to admit it or not, you and I are already _in _a relationship, Regina."

She pulls back then, looks into his eyes, jaw slacked because, well ... he's right. She's been trying so hard not to give in to the physical affair her body craves, she's walked straight into one that's worse. An emotional one.

"This has to stop."

"No," he says firmly, shaking his head.

"Yes. We can't do this anymore, Robin. Do you know how detrimental this could be to your case?"

"Gold will not lose my case. Not if he ever wants to see Neal again. I have complete faith in Mel and Lennie to find Killian. Even if you are my favourite, Regina ... my case doesn't depend on your skills in particular."

"Charming, thank you. It's nice to know you hold my abilities in such high regard," she snaps.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Well it doesn't matter what you meant, this ... whatever this is, it's over." She detangles her hands from his. "Even if you don't care what it could do to your case, I do. Not to mention the fact that, if this ever got out, I would lose my job. I'd lose my whole career, Robin. You might be okay with that, but I'm not."

He meet her gaze dead on, shakes his head again. "No, I don't think you would."

"What? What are you talking about, I'd-"

"Relationships between lawyers and their clients aren't against any rules or regulations in this country, Regina. You're currently employed by Gold, who is the head of a British law firm. The case you're working on is based on a crime in this country. Not yours."

She looks at him, is lost for words as her mind reels with what he's just said, and how the hell does he know all this? Deep down, she knows the answer. She knows he's probably already looked into it. She knows he wouldn't be shedding light on his feelings unless there was a definite chance it could lead somewhere, and suddenly it takes her breath away. That he's been thinking about this, about them, long and hard enough to have looked into whether it's possible for them to be together, whether there's a loophole in their predicament that could mean she'd get to keep her job. Not his case … if they do this, if she gives in and lets him convince her and someone finds out? She can kiss his case goodbye. But … maybe not her whole career.

There's a voice in the back of her mind though, small, niggling, it's eating away at her as it whispers Glass's name, Katherine's name. What if she's wrong about all this? Her judgement has been off before, in the worst way possible. She's already paid the ultimate price for being wrong about a client, and she doesn't think she'd survive another blow to the heart like the one she'd receive if it turned out Robin wasn't innocent like she thinks.

He is. He is innocent. And he certainly wouldn't hurt her. He worries when she takes the tube alone, for Christ's sake, he's not about to go plotting her murder.

"If … if my boss at Harvard ever found out … if the BAR association ever knew about this-"

"Why do they have to know? It's not their business. It's ours."

Regina can feel it happening, slowly, surely, can feel her willpower seams are coming apart one stitch at a time as he steps forward and presses their temples together. He's right ... she isn't in America right now ... why would anyone ever find out? They could just ... give in.

Just once.

She could get this whole thing out of her system if she just let go and didn't think about what would happen the next morning. Just one night ... there can't be any harm in just one night ... can there?

"It kills me, Regina," he whispers as her eyes flutter shut. "That I get to treat you like my girlfriend, but I don't get to have every part of you. It's entirely cruel that I should be allowed to bare my heart to you, but not touch you the way I really want to. Not hold you, or kiss you," his hands find her hips, fingers splayed against her curves as she leans in closer. It's subconscious. She can't help the way her body presses up against his, can't prevent her hands from sliding up his chest and stopping at his neck.

"I can't kiss every inch of your skin the way I want to, the way I think you want me to." Regina nods into his neck, angles her head up as he dips his down. His breath is hot on her face as he talks, lips a mere inch from her own. She swallows hard ... all she would have to do is reach up on her tip toes and that gap would close. "I want this, Regina. I want _you_. I want to touch you, I want to make you moan and shiver." His voice is like velvet; is making her squirm, wet between the legs, her breath heavier and heavier with every word. "I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

Oh fuck.

That'll do it.

She kisses him. Hard, bruising, hungry. She kisses him with everything she's got and for a moment, the room around them disappears. Robin pulls her body flush against his own, strong arms squeezing her waist as she wraps her arms around his neck. It's dizzying and heated, makes warmth burst through her veins and oh god, why have they not done this before? Why has she not given in sooner?

Regina tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth, pulls open his mouth so she can taste him with her tongue. Robin walks her backwards until her ass meets the table and oh god, they have to stop. They have to stop right now or she knows they'll end up going at it right there on the conference room desk.

"Wait," she breathes between kisses. "We can't, _mmm_."

"We _can_, Regina," he says. She doesn't miss the frustration in his voice, the fact that he obviously thinks she's about to stop him properly, and it makes a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

"No," she says, pulling away to catch her breath and touch her forehead to his. "I don't mean we can't do this. I just mean we can't do this _here_."

Robin nods before asking, "What floor is your room on?"

Regina smiles, kisses his lips chastely before telling him, _it's on the seventh_, and then moving away to grab her cell. Robin picks up her laptop, along with the files she's left strewn across the desk, gathers them all under his arm while she juggles her phone and both shoes between her fingers. She gives the conference room one last sweep with her eyes, pushes her chair under the desk, then clicks the main light off to leave.

They walk to her room in silence. Side by side, shoulders bumping as Regina pads across the corridor and over to the elevator bare foot. Well ... not totally. She's wearing pantyhose, but still, as she steals a glance in his direction, she notes that without her trusty heels on, she's a great deal shorter than he is.

The silence presses in on her ears when they enter the lift. It's not awkward, not really, but it is loaded with anticipation, and as Robin pushes the number 7 to take them up to her room, Regina feels nerves bubble in her stomach.

They're going to have sex. There is absolutely no doubt about that. He wouldn't have asked where her room was if he didn't want that. She wouldn't have told him if she didn't want it either. But as the elevator draws up the length of the building, she finds herself looking down at the floor, trying desperately to remember if she made her bed this morning, (it's a stupid thing to think about, housekeeping will have made her bed). He's never seen her room before ... he's never kissed her before either, and she certainly doesn't have any complaints about the way he did that. Why would she have any complaints about the sex?

She won't have any complaints. The sex will be great.

_He_ will be great ... but you? It's been a long time for you.

She takes a deep breath in, closes her eyes and shakes her head slightly. He wants her, she wants him. That's all that matters.

She looks up, feels Robin's eyes on her, gives him a small smile as the elevator door slides open. He takes her hand then, presses their palms together and lets her lead the way to her room.

God bless housekeeping, because when she opens the door and invites him inside, her room is pretty pristine. Regina flicks on the light, then instantly regrets it. She shouldn't have done that. Now the whole room is bright, will make him be able to see _everything, _and if this goes as far as she wants it to go, then that won't be a good thing. Not in her eyes. She doesn't want complete darkness, that's silly when they don't know each others bodies yet.

She wants one light. The lamp by the TV. It's small, won't stop them from seeing the other person, but won't give his eyes access to every lump and bump on her body. She could just turn it off ... but then, what if he wants it on? Oh _Christ_.

"This is a great room," he says as she shakes her irritation from her head and walks over to the sofa to drop her purse. "The view's great." He nods at the window, the dark sky dancing with the lights of London as she draws the curtains shut.

"Yeah. It's kind of small, but, it's got all the essentials. There's water in the fridge, if you're thirsty. Or booze. I think there's whiskey, I'm not sure, I'll just-"

She moves to pass him, but Robin stops her with a hand on her stomach. It makes the nerves pole vault into her chest, and she swallows hard.

"I don't want a drink."

She feels her jaw slacken just slightly as she takes in the desire darkening his eyes, pupils widening as she absentmindedly licks her lips. She nods, then moves her hand to rest on the top of his. She holds it there for a split second, runs her fingers over the calloused skin of his hands, then inches her body past him.

"I'm just going to go," she says, walking backwards the bathroom. She's playing it cool, she thinks, not letting go of his eye contact while moving in a manner she hopes is sexy. It seems to be working, because his eyes are raking up and down her body, they're drinking her in, and yes, she thinks. This is sexy. "Freshen up. I'll be right out."

Or, at least, it starts sexy. But then she walks back one step too far, hits her back off the corner of the wall and stumbles to the side as her face scrunches up in pain.

_Ouch _and _fuck_ are the only two words that come to mind.

Robin chuckles, brings one hand up to cover his mouth while the other sits across his body. She looks up, laughs, preys to heaven (and hell) that her face isn't bright freaking red, then gives him one last nod and pushes her way into the bathroom.

Regina leans back on the door as it clicks shut and inhales deeply through her nose. Anything to settle the nerves bubbling away in her stomach. She moves forward, grips the cold edges of the basin and stares herself down in the mirror.

Pull yourself together, Regina. This isn't your first time, she tells herself. You are not in the hay barn at the Nolan's farm, about to lose it to an inexperienced 19-year-old.

But ... it is still your first time, a small voice reminds her. It's your first time with Robin.

And the nerves bubble up even more. It's ridiculous; she's a grown woman, she has needs. Needs that haven't been met for longer than she'd care to admit to. She is attracted to him, he to her - she should not be this nervous, so she tells herself again ... Pull yourself together.

She takes another deep breath, and chooses to ignore the little voice in her head that's sending up prayers that this will be every bit as toe curling as she's imagined it will be, as she wants it to be. She stands back, smoothes down her dress, then freezes.

Now what?

Does she take her dress off in here? Does she wait for him to do that? It could be sexy, she thinks, to re-emerge in the bedroom in nothing but her underwear (it isn't the sexiest set she owns, but it matches, and the bra is a balconette, pushes her breasts up nicely without making them look bigger than they actually are). But is that presumptuous? He's already told her how much he wants to make her come, so she thinks maybe presumptuous wouldn't be the word. Bold. It would be bold, and maybe require a certain level of confidence she isn't comfortable displaying around him just yet.

So no, she won't lose the dress.

Her underwear? Let him have a surprise when his hands make their way up and under her clothes? But then ... losing her panties seems even more daring then walking out there in nothing but her bra and briefs. She scoffs at herself, shakes her head dramatically, and when the hell did seducing someone become so damn stressful?

Regina pushes her hair back with a huff. Her face is flushed, and she rolls her eyes at herself before turning on the faucet and throwing cold water on her skin, running her soaked hands over the back of her neck. Not for the first time since Katherine's death, she wishes she could call her best friend - _she'd_ know exactly what to say to Regina in order for her to avoid such a stressful situation. Like maybe, _Don't fall for the very off-limits client that lives in a foreign country to begin with._

But it's too late for that.

The irony is not lost on her that Robin is now the friend she would likely turn to for guidance; that if she was feeling anxious over anything, he would be her source of comfort. She's suddenly filled with irritation that the anxiousness she needs comforting over_ is_ Robin.

She settles on losing her pantyhose. Bare legs are sexy, and thank god she had the good sense to shave this morning. They're flesh coloured too, so there's a good chance he won't notice that she's lost an extra layer of clothing; more specifically, the layer that gets him inside her faster without the awkward hassle that comes with removing said pantyhose. One last glance in the mirror, and then she turns to pull the door handle with her last deep breath.

Robin sits at the foot of the bed - void of his sweater, shoes and socks - and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she shuts the bathroom light off. Clearly, she isn't the only one of them who's pondered what to take off and what to leave for the other person to remove. He smiles back at her, his eyes fall over her body, then back up to her face as he holds out his hand for her to join him. She pads towards him slowly, pushes her palm into his and moves to stand between his legs.

Regina's heart pounds in her chest as Robin angles his head, looks up and into her eyes in a way that makes her think he's staring at her soul. It's intense, makes her breath catch in her throat, makes her heart thud harder against her rib cage, makes the nerves she's just batted away come hurtling back so hard, for a second she actually feels sick. She frames his face with her hands, feels the rough stubble peppering his jaw under her soft fingertips, then leans down to touch her lips to his.

His hands snake around her waist, pull her close as their kiss deepens. For a moment, they remain all tongues and heavy breaths, her hands are splayed across his jaw, fingers edging their way into his hairline, nails scratching his scalp as he nips and sucks at her bottom lip. She's not sure how they end up lying down, can't quite recall pushing him back, but is equally sure he didn't pull her either and yet, here they are.

Robin's changed their angle, has shifted her body so she now lies half underneath him and half to his side ... is making her insides shiver as his palm eases its way from her hip, upwards to her ribs, and stops just short of her breast.

Regina hears herself _Mmmm_, into his lips. Oh god, this feels good, nice; heated enough for her sex to be aching and oh so wet, but not enough that she needs to rip his clothes off right here and now. She wants to enjoy this, to enjoy him, wants to linger in the dizziness that comes with the way his tongue dances with her own. Why on earth did she ever think this could be a bad thing? Why has she put this off for so long?

Because you're his lawyer.

Ah. That.

Regina feels her brow furrow, pulls her mouth away from Robin's for a second, then smiles shyly as she catches her breath and shakes the doubt away from her mind. She wants this, and so she brings his face back down to hers.

You can want it with all your heart, it doesn't change the fact this isn't right.

But it _feels_ right. She moans as he presses his weight down onto her, brings her hands away from either side of his face and into the small space between their bodies to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. This move makes Robin bolder, and just as her hands meet the warm, bare skin of his abdomen, the hand that's splayed on her ribs shifts upwards, palms at her breast through the material of her dress. It makes her squirm underneath him, makes her squeeze her thighs together because there's no friction where she needs there to be.

Another moan leaves her throat, and she turns her head, pulls her mouth away from his. "Ah, that feels good," she breathes as he kisses down her throat and sucks at her pulse point. He hums in appreciation, in agreement, nods into her neck as she rakes her nails down his torso. Her fingers hit the band of his jeans, edge beneath the material and curl into the hair she finds. He's hard, she can feel that much against her hip, but restricted too - she can't take him in her hand like she wants to because of these goddamn jeans.

"I can't," she starts with a huff, pulling her hand away and he stops instantly, leans back to find her eyes and see what's wrong. Regina sits up, pushes him back with splayed fingers on his abdomen (it's not ripped, but deliciously _toned_ ... tanned, and as he breathes in and out, she can make out the lines of his muscles in a way that has her licking her lips).

"Is something wrong?" He asks gently, placing his fingers under her chin and directing her face away from his body and up to his eyes.

She grins, and lets out a huff of a laugh before leaning in and capturing his lips in one chaste kiss. "Nothing's wrong ... we're just wearing far too many clothes for this."

For a split second, he looks relieved, and then he's grinning too. Robin sheds his shirt as Regina reaches for his pants. The belt comes away without effort, the worn leather of the strap bending with ease as she slides it from the hooks and tosses it carelessly across the room. He moves his hands behind her, tugs the zip of her dress down - it gets stuck at the waist and he growls in frustration as his fingers struggle to yank it down. Hers are fumbling uselessly with the button of his pants. The zip is down, the belt is off, but this button ... they must be new because the material is stiff, and she can't loosen this button free, can't get to where she wants to be, can't ruck them down yet either.

Regina huffs with frustration just as Robin gives one last tug at her dress. The zip is all the way down now, leaves her back bare save her bra, has his hands stroking her skin, moving up to her shoulders in an attempt to start pulling the front away.

But he can't do that unless she lets go of his jeans though, and she won't do that. Not until she's managed to undo them.

"Regina," he says after noticing she's getting hot and bothered for the wrong reasons. He stills her hands. "Let me."

"No, I can do it," she snaps, furrows her brow in concentration. Why the hell can't she undo them? Shouldn't this be simple?

Maybe it's a sign you shouldn't ...

She freezes. Maybe it's sign she shouldn't, that fucking voice, the self doubt in her head presses on and on as her fingers stop moving under his and her shoulders sag.

"What's the matter?" He asks.

"Nothing," she states, brings up her hands to pull him back down for more eager kisses, but he stops her, grips her wrists and stares at her with nothing but concern in his eyes.

"Regina, talk to me. What are you thinking about?"

She gnaws at her bottom lip. She feels stupid, silly and like she's ruined the entire moment. She drops her hands in her lap as Robin cups her face in his hands, directing her gaze to his.

"It's just," she starts, then stops, shakes her head because she doesn't know how to voice her thoughts without completely killing either of their arousals.

"Do you not want to do this?"

Her eyes widen, how can he even think that? "What? No, no, no. Of course I want to do this, it's just ..." she sighs, avoids his eyes, and finishes her sentence with a murmur. "I'm nervous."

Robin says nothing, just strokes his thumb comfortingly over her cheekbone and waits for her to carry on talking. She appreciates the space he gives her, the moment she needs to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts (something that isn't exactly easy when she's warm and wet, when she can see his erection pressed up against his pants - the pants she's now decided she hates). She pulls one of his hands away from her face and laces their fingers together.

"I've imagined this happening so many times, I just don't want anything to ruin it, and now there's all this stuff going round in my head and I can't ... I can't undo your pants and it's annoying me! All I've been thinking about since we came up here is whether or not I should take my dress off, or leave you to do it. If I should leave the lights on or turn them off, and I'm also really, painfully aware I haven't given myself a pedicure since I left Boston. I don't have any condoms here, but I don't know when's best to bring that up because I don't want to kill the mood. Emma said she'd call me tonight, and I can't remember if I turned my phone on silent, and I'm not really liking the idea she could interrupt me getting the first orgasm I'll have had this year. And it's October, Robin. That's a really long time to go without having an orgasm that's given to you by someone other than yourself."

She's babbling. Saying her words so fast they no longer sound coherent, and Robin is looking at her with his lips pressed tightly together, brows raised, nothing but pure amusement in his eyes. Regina glares at him as he nods slightly, then frowns when he gets up.

He pulls her to the edge of the bed with ease, hands gripped around her ankles, and while the gesture makes a smirk tug at her mouth, she says nothing. Neither does he. He stays completely silent as he pulls her dress from her shoulders and down before kneeling in front of her to shimmy it past her hips. Regina watches curiously as he tosses it aside, stands and undoes his pants (with an ease that makes her roll her eyes - why the hell couldn't she do that?). His jeans join her dress on the floor a second later.

"There. Jeans off, dress off. That's two things less for you to stress about. What else was there? Oh yes. Condoms. I have them in my wallet." That, she's noticed, has been conveniently placed on her bedside table.

"Now, unfortunately, I can't do anything about the fact you haven't painted your nails," he says as he walks over to her front door and flicks the main light of the room off. One lamp that sits beside her television remains on; leaves a romantic, warm glow over the bedroom that means she doesn't feel quite so exposed sitting there in her underwear, but can still make out the curve of his cock lying hard beneath his black boxers.

"But to be quite frank, I don't give a toss about whether they're painted or not."

She's smiling now, shaking her head as he walks straight past her and over to the sofa that sits under the window. Her purse is on there, and she watches as he rifles through it to find her phone. He turns it off, tosses it back into her bag, then turns to give the room one last sweep with his eyes.

"Now, I do believe there was one more thing you were stressing over," he says, a dirty smirk on his face as he saunters over to where she sits, then crawls up the bed as she scoots backwards, biting her lip as he hovers over her. "Something about you not having been given an orgasm in a year?"

Regina cocks her eyebrow. "You misunderstood. I have had orgasms in the last year. They've just been ... of my own doing."

Robin groans, drops his head into the crook of her neck as she chuckles. "You minx," he declares, pressing a kiss on her shoulder before meeting her eyes once more.

She has no idea how he's done it, but she feels ... better. More at ease, more excited ... less like the fate of the world rests on what's about to happen. He's done what no one ever has for her before. He's listened to her fears, then taken charge and completely removed them from her mind, has made her feel like she has nothing to worry about anymore ... why the heck was she stressing so much in the first place?

Regina smiles as he kisses her. It's tender this time, and as she pulls away, she closes her eyes and rubs her nose against his. He's not really touching her, just hovering over where she lies, one leg planted between hers, hands holding his weight, one by her waist, the other by her head ... she thinks he might be holding back to give her time to recollect her thoughts and just _enjoy_ what's happening.

"Thank you," she says quietly, and he smiles. "I think there was all this pressure because I've actually dreamt about this happening and well ... you've taken that away. So thank you."

"Regina I wouldn't want to do this if you were feeling apprehensive. I want you to enjoy this as much as I know I'm going to. And if that means I sit here and paint your nails for you, then that is exactly what I'll do."

She lets out a laugh. "I don't want you to do that."

"Really? Thank god, because I fear we could have gotten in a bit of a mess."

They kiss again, lazily this time. He takes time sucking at her bottom lip, invading her mouth with his tongue. It's slow and sensual, is making her relax into his touch and revel in the heat blooming in her belly with anticipation of what's about to happen.

"I have one more very serious question to ask before I begin providing you with multiple orgasms," he says suddenly, pulling back to look at her with a glint of arrogance and humour in his expression.

Regina doesn't know whether to roll her eyes or wiggle her brows. The promise of orgasms will never be a bad thing, but ... oh that confidence that he'll be able to deliver is frustrating. What's even more frustrating is that she has no doubt he will.

"Go on."

"Have you really had dreams about this?"

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, a devilish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and nods in response.

"And what do we do? In the dreams?" He asks before dipping his head and planting wet kisses along the edge of her bra. She feels her back arch up to his touch, feels her brow furrow in anticipation because his tongue is running over the material, so close to where she wants it to be.

"Ah- we ... we're usually a little more naked than this," she breathes. Robin hums, his voice deep, and he looks up to meet her eyes, his own full of desire. He moves slowly then, pulls down each strap of her bra, fingers skimming her skin so softly that she shivers.

He pulls down one of the cups of her bra, then moves down to press a kiss to her nipple. They're sensitive, tight with excitement, and a deep moan leaves her throat when he starts sucking hard. She rakes her fingers through his hair, tugs at the strands as her hips buck of their own accord beneath him.

"Robin," she pants, and it seems to be all the encouragement he needs to pull back, to snake his arms behind her back as she sits up slightly. Her bra is off a second later, thrown carelessly across the room and it lands with a clatter against something. Regina can't think about that though, doesn't _care_ about that, not when his teeth and tongue are teasing one nipple while his hand works the other. Not while she's busy grinding down onto his thigh.

"Was it like this?" He murmurs into her skin. "Your dream?"

She nods furiously, words caught in her throat, and then remembers he can't see her. "Yes," she forces out. "But you were, _ah_, you were holding my hands above ... above my head."

Robin chuckles, then moves to do just that. Strong hands pinning her down, their fingers laced together, and as he moves to kiss her mouth, Regina adjusts her legs until he sits snuggly between them. He drops his head into the crook of her neck, grunts as she hooks her ankles together behind him, pulling him as close as he can be while they're still wearing underwear.

Why are they still wearing underwear?

The question leaves her mind the second it enters, because as she squeezes him between her thighs, he moves, thrusts his hips against hers, over and over until she can feel his cock between two too many layers. It's sitting right _there_, pressed perfectly against her clit, is making her mind go foggy because it feels so good and oh, fuck. _Yes_, she hears herself moan.

She grips his hands hard, digs her nails into his skin as he squeezes back. "Robin," she croaks out. There's a familiar burning brewing in the pit of her stomach as he moves against her and oh god, she doesn't want to stop, she doesn't want to interrupt this perfect rhythm their bodies have fallen into, but she has to. She doesn't want to come in her underwear (not that that's an issue at this point, she's already so wet she can feel the silk slipping against her folds), but she wants to_ feel_ him. Wants to have his fingers and mouth and cock work her into a frenzy - a frenzy that won't happen if she doesn't stop moving right now.

"Robin," she repeats, a little louder, and he stops moving in an instant.

"What is it?" He asks, breathless, moving his face to hover directly above her own, then dropping his forehead against the bridge of her nose.

For a second, she just lies there, feels her heart pounding against her rib cage, feels his chest pressed against her own, their fingers laced together, palms and bodies sweating already.

"I need you," she says, so quietly she's not sure he heard. He's still for a second, presses his lips down to hers, unhooks their hands and then he's moving. Down. Kissing his way down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, nipping and licking her stomach as his fingers slide down her skin and curl under the lace of her panties.

He pulls them slowly, plants wet kisses from one hip bone to the other and while it feels _so fucking good_, there's a frustration that comes with it. He's teasing her, inching her underwear down at a torturous pace and she doesn't need that. She just needs him. His fingers, his face, his cock, anything down there to ease all this pent up ... tension. His mouth moves lower, reaches her pubic bone and again, she sends up a prayer of thanks that she shaved this morning. She's trimmed, tidy and neat, ready for him to be down there, and as he pulls the garment lower, Regina lifts her hips.

It's all the encouragement he needs, and in a flash, her underwear is gone, and his mouth is ... well his mouth is just one inch above where she needs it to be.

"Robin," she groans, doesn't bother feeling ashamed of the pleading in her voice as her back arches off the bed. He moves one hand up to her stomach, presses down to stop her hips from jerking as he - finally - brings his mouth down on her clit.

_Ohhh_.

She moans. It's loud, comes right from the base of her throat as her head tips back and she hooks one leg over his shoulder, toes curling into the skin on his back as he runs his tongue between her folds, then sucks hard. Regina brings one hand to claw at his, the one still pressing down on her stomach, then grips the back of his head with the other. She digs her nails into his scalp as he works her with his mouth, chest heaving, body writhing and oh holy fuck this is ... this is ...

Robin shifts, moves his mouth away and for a split second, she's ready to actually shout at him, because, doesn't he realise this is pretty much how every dream she's had has ended? With her wet and ready, with her nerves on fire and then he just ... stops.

He's not stopping now though, he's adjusting, he's pushing her legs open wider as he brings his hand away from her stomach and slides it down. His fingers brush past the bud of nerves that's pulsing with pleasure, and he dips one fingers inside, then adds another, lazily pumping them in and out before burying his face back down between her thighs.

"Oh god ... fuck, _yes_," she moans, fisting the sheets with her arms out to the sides.

Robin moves his fingers faster with every moan. Regina gets louder, and yes, they're in a hotel, she probably shouldn't scream the place down, but there is a truly magnificent man fucking her with his fingers and tongue, so by god, if she wants to make some noise, she's damn well going to.

He adds a third finger, and that does it. She's alive, bucking her hips into his face but she can't help it, the heat pooling in the pit of her stomach is too much as he works his digits faster and faster. He's pressing kisses to her clit, between her folds, slick with his spit and her juices, is moving his mouth around the insides of her thighs and it's good, it's really, really good. But she needs something there, needs something on her clit if she's going to finish the way she wants to.

"Robin," she pants, her voice is hoarse, mouth dry, and he works his fingers faster. "Robin, please ... suck."

The one word instruction is all he needs, and he's back there, groaning into her skin as his tongue runs over the bump, before closing his lips around her and sucking.

The orgasm hits her in waves, makes her writhe and buck, makes sweat drip down the backs of her knees as pleasure bursts through her nerves, and oh fuck, sweet _Jesus_. His hand doesn't stop moving, but slows considerably as she comes down from her high, her body still twitching as breathing begins to even out.

"That was ... that was," she starts, furrowing her brow because she can't think of words to say to string a coherent sentence together.

"You have no idea how much I want you right now." He murmurs as he kisses his way back up her body.

Regina nods, then frowns at herself because again, he can't see her. She guides him up, meets his face dead on then says, "Then take me." A groan leaves Robin's mouth as he crashes his lips down onto hers. "Fuck me," she whispers as he moves to kiss along her jaw. She drags her nails down his back as he nods into her neck, then inches her hands beneath his boxers, squeezes his ass in an attempt to wordlessly tell him she's ready. She wants him.

He gets up, yanks down his boxers and reaches for his wallet. She lies there, her sex sensitive, readily awaiting what's about to come her way as he rolls a condom down his shaft.

She bites her lip as she waits, her mind reeling with a plethora of emotions. Euphoria, mainly, her body is still tingling from her orgasm, happiness, because she's finally indulging in something ... someone ... she's wanted for nigh on two months. There's other things there too. A twinge of guilt (she really should turn her phone back on, because if she misses a call from Emma, it means she misses a call from Henry, and if she misses a call from one of her most favourite people in order to get laid, well ... that just makes her feel selfish).

At the very back of her mind, locked in the deepest darkest corners she can't get to, or won't go to, there's dread too. Dread because it's too late now. She's in this, body and soul, they're together. And if it gets screwed up ... if she's misjudged the whole situation, if he gets sent down, if _anyone_ finds out ...

Regina shakes the dread away, locks it back up with the other parts of her subconscious she refuses to address, sighs contently as Robin crawls back up the bed to where she lies.

He kisses her, tender, to begin with, lets the heat build as she reaches between them and takes him in her hand. He's hot and hard, throbbing as she works him, rolling her thumb across the head then sliding her fingers down to the base. He's uncut, and while she's not new to this particular part of a man's anatomy, it _has_ been a long time since she's dealt with it.

He hisses slightly as she rubs the skin, and she stills her hand, touches a kiss into the crook of his neck while she adjusts the pressure of her fingers and begins to work her wrist again. His breathing gets heavier, hotter, and he's getting sloppier with the kisses he's pressing against her mouth. His stubble is scratching at her skin, and somewhere at the back of her mind, Regina really, really hopes her mouth won't be red raw tomorrow from the roughness of his beard.

Her hand slips suddenly, and she mentally curses herself that she didn't go with the hand job before he put the condom on. She hates the condom already ... is sorely tempted to tell him to take it off. She trusts him, trusts that he hasn't got anything, and she knows she hasn't. But the sensible part of her brain, the part that's sulking because she's given in and decided risking her career is totally worth sex with him, is winning out.

She might well trust him, she also might well be ninety-nine percent sure she can't get pregnant, but she relents, and decides maybe the condom is a good idea. Just for now ... until she can sort some sort of birth control out.

Not that she'll need to sort birth control out ... after tonight, this isn't happening again.

Oh for the love of ... who the hell is she kidding? This is definitely happening again.

Indefinitely. Especially if he keeps up the way he's currently grazing his teeth over her nipple, wetting the skin with his spit, sucking on it hard enough for there to be a slight amount of pain ... not unpleasant pain though, delicious pain. His hand moves further down, fingers circling her opening as her hips buck beneath him. He's making sure she's still slick, still ready, and honestly, like she couldn't be at this point?

A moan leaves her throat as he strums his thumb against her clit, then kisses up her throat, moves to suck on her earlobe. "Are you ready for me?"

Regina nods furiously, opens her legs wider as Robin reaches down between them and guides his cock inside. They groan together as he enters, his face burrowed in the crook of her neck. He doesn't start moving straight away, and she's grateful, needs a second to adjust to something this thick being inside her after so long. She takes the lead after a beat, once he's buried to the hilt, thrusts her hips upwards to wordlessly tell him he can move, and he does. Pulls out, almost all the way, then pushes back in. She bites down on her bottom lip, tries to stifle the moans threatening to burst from her throat with every thrust of his hips. He's slow at first, languid, lazy, but she thinks it's for her benefit rather than his, can tell from the strain in his neck he's holding back.

"Robin," she breathes, pulls his face to look down at her. "Fuck me," she says. She's already come, and if she doesn't come again then that's just fine with her. Regina wants him to enjoy himself, wants this to be every bit as good for him as it has been for her.

She squeezes her legs tighter around his body, chastely kisses his mouth. "Fuck me the way you _want_ to fuck me."

He looks into her eyes for a moment, then nods, reaches down with one arm and hooks his elbow behind her knee. Okay ... she wasn't expecting a change in position, but as he hoists her upwards, drapes her leg over his shoulder, he goes deeper, and his angle completely changes.

Oh god ... okay.

He speeds up, pounds into her, grunting into her ear. He can get deeper now, and with the way her body is bent, each thrust means he's rubbing her clit with the exact right amount of pressure. Fuck ... oh, ohhh ... she didn't think she'd come again but now? Now she might. If he stays exactly like this.

"Ohh," she breathes. "_Yes_ ... don't ... don't stop."

"There?" He pants back, moves quicker, harder, and oh _god_.

"Right there, don't stop, Robin. Oh fuck, yes. Go faster."

She's trying to hurry up, doesn't think he'll hold out much longer but if he can just go a little bit harder, get a little bit deeper, she'll come with his name on her lips and stars in her eyes, she just knows it. Regina presses her lips together, swallows down the curses that are threatening to spill from her mouth, then moves her other knee upwards.

It's not over his shoulder, not like her other one, but it's high enough for her to be able to plant both feet on his back and that is _perfect_. Robin groans, drops down a little closer to her body so their chests and bellies press together in a sweaty, sticky mess, and rucks his hips hard against her own.

The heat is there, welcome, familiar, a sensation she's sorely missed being provided with by someone other than herself, and when she comes this time, her muscles tighten around his cock. She writhes beneath his body, rubs herself against him, fills the room with heavy breaths and deep groans as he pounds into her harder. She can't come down from this high like she did the first, because he's moving too fast and too hard against her. She's sensitive, knows she'll be sore come tomorrow, but it doesn't stop her from squeezing his body between her thighs and raking her nails up his back as he rides her out of orgasm.

He comes a few minutes later, a mixture of grunts and curses and her name escaping his throat as he spills into her. He collapses in a heap on top of her, and for a moment, neither move. Regina swings her legs back down, wincing at the click in her hip, the sharp pain that comes with her legs being at a funny angle for so long, then sighs softly.

Robin touches his lips to the hollow of her collarbone, and she brings her hand up to absentmindedly play with his hair as he softens inside, then slips out of her. He rolls off her, lies flat on his back, skin shining with sweat, then gets up with a groan.

Regina watches as he pads his way to the bathroom, rakes her teeth across her bottom lip at the sight of his ass. It really is a good ass. She sighs happily, lies still while her body cools down and her limbs stop feeling so shaky.

Later, after they've dozed and kissed, after they're spent and the air around them smells a little less like fresh sex, he draws his fingers up and down her arm as she snuggles in closer to his side, the covers drawn up half drawn up around their bodies, she says his name.

He hums in response, eyes still closed, but he's not sleeping. Not yet, anyway.

"What does this mean? What do we do now?" She asks, because one of them had to, sooner or later.

He frowns slightly, then sighs when he looks down to meet her eyes. "Now ... we ..." but he seems at a loss for the answer she wants to hear. He can't tell her everything will be okay, nor can he tell her it won't be either. They're stuck in a weird little limbo now, and as she realises that, she sighs heavily.

Denial. That's worked for every part of this evening, why should she stop now?

"Hey," she says, recapturing his attention, because she's clearly put his mind somewhere else. "Are you as hungry as I am?" She asks with a smile.

Robin grins. "How about we order pizza?"

"Sounds perfect."

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. They do order pizza, but it's past midnight and Robin has to throw his clothes back on to go down to the lobby and wait for it to arrive. She checks her phone and thanks god that there are no missed calls from either of her sisters, then dozes, drifts between the blissful heaviness behind her lids and a sleepy giddiness that she's just been quite thoroughly fucked by none other than Robin Locksley.

When he returns, she's replaced her underwear, thrown on a tank top and is lying diagonally across the bed with her arms thrown above her head. He strips down to his boxers, and they eat the pizza tucked up in bed, lost in conversation and laughter, in tender kisses and wandering hands. She's the first to let out a yawn, just as witching hour approaches, and he clambers out of bed to throw the boxes of devoured food outside her front door while she snuggles down into the duvet.

His arms are around her a second later, and as he presses a kiss on her neck, she drifts to his soft whisper of, "Good night."

-§-

She wakes slowly, warm and well rested, wrapped in Robin's arms. Regina smiles sleepily, burrows her body further back into his and relishes in the way he squeezes her, holds her closer despite the fact he's still half asleep. His arm is acting as her pillow, stretched out in front of her, and as her eyelids get less heavy with last remnants of sleep, she traces the outline of his tattoo with her fingertips before sighing contently.

There's a delicious ache between her thighs, her body's way of telling her the work out it's been given throughout the night has been nothing but good. And sorely needed.

It's late morning, and there's something about lazily lying naked in a gorgeous man's arms on a Saturday, well past a time that's considered appropriate to still be in bed that makes Regina feel giddy.

Robin touches his lips to her neck, grumbles a sleepy _good morning_ as he grips her body closer, moves his tattooed arm to clutch her shoulder and pull her back into his chest.

"Well I could certainly get used to this," he says after a moment. Regina chuckles.

"What, the fact you're still asleep at 11am? I imagine that doesn't happen with Roland around."

"It doesn't. And for the record, I wasn't talking about the lie in."

"Oh?" She says innocently, turning in his arms to face him. She knows he wasn't talking about that really, but she feigns the ignorance anyway.

Robin smiles sleepily, leans down to brush their noses together. "I meant I could get used to waking up with you in my arms."

He kisses her smile. A kiss that's tender, loving, lingering. A kiss she sinks into because she still can't quite believe this is happening, still can't quite get her head around the fact she's lying in his arms, listening to him whisper sweet nothings in her ear, reveling in every touch, every kiss he gives her.

"What time do you have to go and get Roland?" She asks with a sleepy sigh.

"Not until tea time. Mulan said she'd get them food on the way home."

"That was nice of her," Regina murmurs, burrowing into his chest and letting her eyes fall heavy once more. Robin hums in agreement, and for a few more minutes, they lull in the land between dreaming and waking.

"How about you and I take a very long hot shower, then go and grab lunch? I've got to do some food shopping later, but we can be back in time for when they get home," Robin says with a stretch.

She smiles, nods into his chest, then grumbles out, "Just five more minutes."

He chuckles, pulls her closer, but the five minutes she'd hoped for disappear with the loud, blaring sound of her cell phone. Regina bolts up, ignores Robin's _mph_, as she clambers over his legs and across the bed to reach her purse. The phone is somewhere at the bottom, and she has to burrow through the contents to finally find it.

It's Emma.

Her heart stops. It's barely 6AM in Boston, what the hell is her sister doing, skyping her at this time of the morning? On a Saturday no less.

"Is everything okay?" Robin asks sitting up, a look of concern on his face as Regina stares a little slack-jawed at her screen.

"It's my sister," she says with a frown.

"Well then answer it."

Her eyes widen in alarm. "It's a video call, you have to go and hide," she says, hurrying over and promptly pulling him from the bed. He laughs, gets up with a stretch, then moves into the bathroom, shaking his head.

She waits until the door has clicked shut, then swipes across the screen to answer, sits on the bed gnawing at her thumb while she waits for the chat to load.

When Emma's face appears, she looks … fine. Tired, but otherwise, her normal self. Regina drops her hand into her lap and sighs heavily.

"What's the matter?" She asks her sister curtly. Emma raises her eyebrows, bites down into the bagel she's eating (she's sitting at her kitchen counter with a glass of OJ and another _bagel_ to her left, and Regina's stomach gurgles at the sight of food).

"Nothing. Why would anything be the matter?"

"It's 6AM on a Saturday, Em. I don't think I've seen you awake at this time … maybe ever."

"Oh, right. I haven't been to bed yet. I've been on a stake out all night and just got home. I figured I'd call because I forgot last night."

Relief floods Regina's veins, and as her shoulders release the tension she didn't realise they were holding, she scoots back on her bed and rests against the headboard. "Is Henry at Mary-Margaret's?"

"No, I left him here alone last night."

"You _what_?!"

"Chill, mom. Of course he's at Mary-Margaret's. I know you think my parenting skills leave something to be desired, but I'm not that stupid."

"Right … sorry," Regina mumbles.

It's as Emma is chewing through the last bite of her first bagel that Regina notice her deep frown. "Are you still in bed?" Her sister asks, and she feels her heart stop. "Isn't it like … nearly midday in England?"

She's about to answer, about to make up some lie that she's had an awful migraine and that's why she's still wrapped up in her bedsheets with messy hair and the remnants of yesterday's makeup still on her face. She's been tossing and turning all night, that's why.

The fact that actually she's had the best night's sleep she's ever had in her life after what was arguably the most incredible sex of her life … well … Emma doesn't need to know that.

Or at least, she _wouldn't_ need to know that. Unfortunately for Regina, Robin chooses that moment to turn the shower on, and while it's in a completely separate room … the way the water hits the tiles is _loud_. Her eyes dart to her right, and as Emma's mouth stretches into an unbearable smirk, she makes a mental note to kill him when he comes back out.

"Regina Mills. Is there a man in your hotel room?"

Her face flushes, but even as she shakes her head, she knows it's utterly useless lying. Emma can read her as easily as she would a book for preschoolers.

"Oh, you little siren! Do tell," she says with a wide set grin. Regina rolls her eyes and sighs.

"There's nothing to tell! He's just … some guy I met," but even as the words leave her mouth, she knows she isn't being convincing.

Emma snorts. "Oh please, look at you, you've got stars in your eyes. That is not just 'some guy.'"

She ponders her sister's words for a second. Of course Robin isn't just some guy … but the idea that he could be more truly scares her. If he's more than just a guy, if he's _the_ guy … her guy … the one … then she will have to admit to herself that one day people will find out she's gone way over the line and potentially ruined her career.

For a man.

Emma and Mary will be happy for her, they will be supportive, they always have been, and in the rare conversations she has with her father during holidays, he will tell her much the same. _As long as you're happy, Regina_. But the thought of her peers finding out, the thought of her mother finding out is enough to make her skin crawl. They will never understand, and then what would she do?

She might well feel like rubbing her face with a cheese grater whenever she's around Cora … but she's still her mother, and despite everything, she still loves her. She doesn't want to disappoint her, not more than she already has, (and she doesn't think the woman could take more shame than what she assured Regina she felt when her daughter quit Gold's firm).

She sighs heavily, then tells Emma, "Look, there's a guy, yes. But it's new, and I don't have a clue where it's going. Can we just talk about something else, please? How is Henry doing?"

Emma raises her brow for a split second, then moves past the subject of Robin without another word. "He's fine. He misses you. He told me to tell you he got a B for his last lot of math homework," she says with a warm smile, which Regina returns in kind.

"Really? I miss him so much," she tells her, voice growing thicker with emotion.

"How's your case going?"

_Great, I fucked the accused last night _… "It's going okay. We got a trial date through for the first week in December, so if nothing changes, I'll be home the week after."

"Seriously? Damn, Gold works fast. Well Mary-Margaret and David will be pleased … she'll be ready to pop just as you get back. She's been worried you'd miss the birth of your next nephew."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's just … nesting," Emma says with a chuckle.

Regina smiles, thinking fondly of her other sister, of her pottering around that huge farm house, cleaning every room from top to bottom, and her heart tugs slightly at the thought. She misses home, she realises, as her and Emma's conversation continues. The case Emma is working on is relatively boring, she tells Regina, and her stake out had been a bust - but August had been there to keep her company.

The mention of this new beau has Regina raising her eyebrows, but she offers her sister the same courtesy she was given, and doesn't mention that she's noticed Emma's been spending a lot of time with this man. She wants to ask if it's getting serious, for Henry's sake ... but that would make her a big, fat hypocrite, so she stays silent.

They end their call with the usual well wishes, a promise from Regina to call tomorrow so she can talk to Henry, and one final sass from Emma of, _enjoy all your British sex!_

She ends the chat before Regina can say anything back.

-§-

The week flies by, and now they've started, they cannot stop.

She stays at Robin's place nearly every night, basking in this casual coupleness they have so easily fallen into, stealing kisses when Roland isn't around, because god forbid they should trust a child with such a secret. It's new, and exciting, and he makes her heart flutter in way it hasn't since she was a teenager. It is ridiculous, and yet, there is a smile on her face that only he can bring out, and now it's fixed in place. It reaches her eyes, warms her heart and she can't help it ... she's smitten.

On Wednesday, Robin has to go to Pentonville early for his usual check-ins (a requirement of his bail conditions), because he and John have taken on a relatively huge order, which means he'll be working more hours than he would prefer. Regina takes Roland to school that morning, walks the short distance from Robin's place to the gates with his little hand gripped tightly inside her own.

She glances down at him more than once as they walk, his backpack jumping with every step he takes, but despite the conversation she attempts to make, he is just not his usual self. He's quiet, too quiet for her liking, and she knows he's still struggling with school, knows he doesn't like going, despite the fact that the teachers have assured Robin he's as chipper as anything once he's there.

She watches him as they get closer to the gates, watches as his demeanor changes and somehow he looks smaller.

Mother-mode kicks in.

This instinctual, primal _thing_ that comes out whenever she's around Henry has now started rearing its head when she's near Roland too. She shouldn't interfere ... he isn't her child, and Robin will have this handled, she thinks. Still, as she hugs and kisses him goodbye, watches as he drags himself over to his teacher and the rest of his class, Regina makes a mental note to talk to her boyfriend (when did she start thinking of Robin as her boyfriend?) about his son.

Maybe she could go in and see his teacher again, if Robin is okay with it ... maybe Roland won't really tell Robin why he doesn't like school so much because he wants to seem big and brave in front of his daddy. Or maybe Regina is making this whole thing up in her head, and she really shouldn't be sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.

Emma gets prickly enough when she butts in with parenting advice, and Regina actually _raised_ Henry. Who knows how Robin would react if she voiced that maybe there's more to the fact that Roland seems so unhappy here? Maybe it isn't just school jitters?

She settles on just ... keeping an eye on it, then heads off to her hotel to meet the others.

She doesn't stay at Robin's that night; instead spends her evening laughing with Henry over Skype. She relaxes in a hot bath, finally gets around to giving herself a pedicure, and after a few suggestive texts back a forth, Regina snuggles down to sleep.

The next day, she finds herself sitting in her usual seat at the conference room desk, picking at the chicken skewers Gold's brought up for lunch, listening to Mel as she drones on about what she's discovered in regards to Killian Jones whereabouts. They are waiting for a call back from a contact she has in Italy, because there's been a possible sighting of this ever-elusive man. Robin is due to come in and see Gold in forty-five minutes, and while she knows they'll both behave as cool as cucumbers, there's still a bout of nerves in her tummy that this will be the first time they're together in front of the others since ... well ... since they first started sleeping together.

_Come outside x_

It's a two worded text that pulls her from her thoughts, has absolutely no agenda or hidden meaning whatsoever, and yet, when Regina sneaks a look down at her cell her face flushes, and the corners of her mouth tug with a grin that would be obvious if she wasn't hiding her face under her hair. She looks at the clock that hangs over the conference desk. He's early, and she wonders for a second if he's arrived before they want him just to see her. A welcomed warmth starts in her belly and spreads further down, collecting heat between her thighs.

God, _what_ is this man doing to her? One night away from him and she's a mess. Her mind is reeling with endless thoughts, of him, of the case, of his hands and his mouth, of his naked body and bare ass, so distracted by the memory of her tongue against his skin that when her phone buzzes again, she very nearly jumps from her seat.

_Make up some excuse. I'm waiting_ x

She doesn't need an excuse, simply gets up from the comfy swivel chair she's come to see as her own, and politely excuses herself from the room, muttering something about a bathroom break.

Silence hits her ears when she steps into the long, dark corridor. There has always been something she loves about holding meetings in hotels; calming paintings along hallways lined with bedroom doors, the quiet humming of elevators dragging themselves up and down the length of the building, knowing that she will be (and has been) served a decent meal at lunch, drinking in the breathtaking views of London because their conference room sits on the top floor of this particular hotel. It changes the scene of her entire day, because she's come to realise that actually, she hates Gold's new office, and is quite glad that the damage from the leak upstairs is substantial enough for the man to commandeer a room at the hotel for them to meet in. She's even more grateful it's the hotel she is stopping in.

Robin is waiting for her when she rounds the corner to where the elevators and public toilets live. She feels herself grin, knows it makes her eyes beam, and throws a look back over her shoulder to make sure that, yes, they definitely are alone. He reaches for her hand, laces his fingers with her own before yanking her forwards into the women's restroom.

She doesn't say a word when he turns to face her, lets his lips hover above her own and walks her backwards into a stall. His hands grip her hips, thumbs kneading the bones that make her shiver in anticipation. "What are you-" she begins to ask, cocking an eyebrow when he lets the heavy door shut with a bang and slides the lock across. She never gets to finish her question though - doesn't really know why she asked it in the first place - because suddenly his mouth is on hers.

This kiss is heated from the second it starts, all heavy breathing and soft groans, nipping teeth and dancing tongues. It makes her knees go weak and her mind go foggy, makes her completely forget it's the middle of a Thursday and they're standing in a very public bathroom.

She moans into his mouth, brings her hands up to tug at his hair, then pulls back, breathless. "You're early," she says.

Robin grins, pecks at her lips once more, then tells her, "I know, but last night was the first night you and I have spent apart in a week. I've decided we should never do that again."

She laughs, shakes her head and tells him he's hopeless, then proceeds to press kisses into his neck. His hands start wondering, squeezing her curves over her clothes, making Regina lean into his body and soft whimpers fall from her mouth as his fingers curl into her hair and pull. It's hard enough for her head to tip back, for her throat to be open and exposed to his tongue, and as he sucks on her pulse point, she furrows her brow.

They're in a bathroom. They shouldn't do this ...

"Robin," she breathes, and he hums in response, slides both hands down her figure and around to grip her ass, and she gasps. "We can't do this in the middle of a bathroom ... what if someone comes in?"

"I'll be quick," he says with a mischievous smile and a wink. She wants to protest, wants to bat his hands away but oh god ... she can't. He can be quick ... and she can be quiet ... and the team are the only people on this floor, so ... no one should come in.

"You can't make me sit across from you for the next two hours when I haven't had you since Tuesday ... that would be cruel. And evil," he tells her between kisses, palming her breasts through her shirt and making her mind turn to mush.

"Well," she says with a sigh. "I wouldn't want to be evil."

He reaches down, yanks the sides of her skirt up and maybe the universe wanted her to get laid today, because she'd gotten ready in a rush that morning after oversleeping and poked a hole through her only pair of clean pantyhose. She's bare legged, wet and ready as Robin's fingers slip under her panties and pull them to one side.

Oh, god.

Her head falls on his shoulder as he grazes over her clit, his own breathing getting heavier because she's already soaked. He presses harder, makes Regina have to bite down on her lip as she hooks an ankle behind his calf, opening her legs slightly so he can push a finger inside.

But they don't have time for foreplay ... she's ready, and by the pressure of his hips against hers, he is too. She pulls back, and greedily fumbles with his pants to push them down and release his cock. Robin groans at her touch, lets his head fall back on the door as his adam's apple bobs with a hard swallow.

"I have ... condom ... in my, ah, wallet," he pants out.

"Forget the condom," she breathes, framing his face with her hands and bringing their mouths together for a hungry, wet kiss.

"Are you sure?" He asks, watches with desire in his eyes as she hoists her skirt up further and pulls her underwear off.

"Yes, I trust you," she tells him, sliding her hand slowly down his body to rub his tip with her thumb. Robin moves then, reaches down to pick her up and turns them, presses her back against the stall door. He lines her entrance up with the head of his cock, eyes darkening as she asks, "Do you trust me?"

Robin nods, and she sinks down onto him as he thrusts up. She moans at his fullness, drops her head on his shoulder once more as they begin to grind against one another. The angle is good ... it's _very good_, and the faster she moves, the more heat builds in the pit of her stomach.

"Faster," she moans, biting her lip hard as he quickens the pace and reaches down between them to rub her folds.

They're not going quick enough ... how long has she been gone now? But as she thinks that, the pressure on her clit becomes harder and oh fuck ... _right there_, yes.

Her nerves are tingling, limbs shaking as they smack their mouths and hips together faster, harder, "_More_," she breathes into his mouth. They're not quite kissing, just slack-jawed as their noses rub together and her hands tangle in his hair.

Robin squeezes her rear, digs his nails into her skin as they get closer, and she's there, nearly, he just needs to keep going ... yes ... yes ... oh fuck, ye-

A noise reaches her ears, and Robin stops his hips so suddenly she nearly yells out.

The door to the bathroom has opened, the familiar swinging of the hinges making her eye her lover in alarm as he brings his hands away from her ass and her clit to hold her hips still. Regina presses her lips together hard, desperately trying to stifle the whimper that's bubbling at the base of her throat. She's so close ... _so close_ to orgasm that her muscles are tightening around him, ankles hooking together and pressing him in closer. Robin shakes his head, grips her hips harder in an effort to make her stop because someone is just there, right on the other side of the door, but her hips ... her hips and her body won't stop, won't listen.

She takes a deep breath in, and just before a loud groan escapes her throat, Robin lets go of her hip and pulls one hand up to cover her mouth. The door clatters slightly behind her, and it should make her heart stop, but it won't. Her heart is pounding against her chest and oh _god_, she needs to come. Her hips jerk forward of their own accord, and she screws her eyes shut as he lowers his hand ever so slightly, giving Regina the chance to bite hard into his skin. It helps ... kind of ... but she must bite too hard, because after a second, he rips his hand away with a quiet hiss in her ear and she can't help it-

"Oh god," she moans. Loudly. Drops her head on his shoulder as he squeezes her hips again, attempts to stop them from moving. She can feel his heart against her chest, it's thumping as hard as hers is, and maybe she wasn't the only one so close to finishing.

"Regina?"

She freezes then.

It's Mel.

"Is ... is everything okay in there?"

Robin shakes his head at her, but she can't well ignore her friend when she's so blatantly standing directly on the other side of the door. Thank god these bathroom stalls don't have gaps under the door.

"Yes," she chokes out. "I just ... ah, erm ... I think those ... those ... skewer's went through me."

She catches Robin's eye, sees the glint of humour behind them and glowers. This is all his fault. Stupid man.

"Oh. Erm ... do you need me to get you anything?"

Regina shakes her head, glaring at Robin as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to stifle the apparent laugh he wants to give in to.

"No, I'll be fine," she manages to say.

"Okay. I'm going back in now, I'll tell Gold you're not feeling well."

Mel leaves, the door hinges squeaking as she goes, and after a moment of silence, Regina and Robin begin pounding into each other again.

"I hate you," she pants, her eyes rolling back as her body begins to tremble.

Robin manages to chuckle. "No, you don't."

"_Yes_," she says, wants it to be a contradiction to what he's just said, but as the word leaves her lips, it's followed by another. And another. And then she's coming. Hard.

Okay.

So she may be pinned against a bathroom stall door in the middle of the day while she's supposed to be at work. The man pinning her may well be her client. There's a very, very good chance her recklessness will come back to bite her in the ass.

But as her orgasm leaves her body, as her legs drop shakily to the ground after he's spilled into her, and tenderly kissed her mouth, she decides … maybe … just maybe this man would be worth it.

Perhaps this man is worth burning her life to the ground for.


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter has been split into two, because it ran longer than anticipated, and the next will be pretty fluffy, so it just didn't seem to fit well with the content of this chapter. It reads better in two, however, it should be posted pretty sharpish, because a lot is already written … and my lovely friend Jen has made a gorgeous mania/fanart for what's happening in what will now be chapter 9! I'm excited to share it with you … she's uber talented. As always, thank you to my beautiful beta, Jess! … enjoy!_

Two weeks go by, and as November approaches, Regina learns Halloween isn't the same fiasco in this country as it is back home. There are a few decorations, a few shops that have window displays, supermarkets that host tiny sections with cheap, generic costumes and overpriced bags of candy. Roland's school has put cobwebs around reception and spiders and paper ghosts in his classroom.

But that's about as far as the celebrations go, and (despite the fact she spent all of last year moaning about how much she hates this holiday) Regina finds she actually misses all the commotion that surrounds October 31. It's on a Friday this year, which somehow means it should be even more exciting, and after feeling a sharp pang in her chest from talking to Henry about his costume - he's going as Legolas this year, but Emma informs her it was a very close call between that and Harry Potter again - Regina decides she wants to take Roland trick-or-treating.

Robin makes a face at the idea.

"It's just ... not really something we do over here," he tells her. He's chopping up veg, working the knife as fast as a professional chef as she lays the table and tops up their wine glasses. "Unless of course you're a horny eighteen-year-old going to a club dressed as one of the 118-118 men, thinking you're being just funny enough to get a girl dressed as a dead, slutty nurse to go home with you. Then I believe Halloween can be quite fun."

She stares at him blankly. She has no idea who the 118-118 men are, but decides to ignore the quip and press on with her argument. "Roland will lap it up. Henry adores dressing up and eating loads of candy. It's so exciting."

"I just don't know how comfortable I am with letting him go around the neighborhood to beg for sweets."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Oh god, you British suck the fun out of everything. It's not begging! It's just ... fun!"

Robin sighs with a soft chuckle, scoops up the assortment of vegetables and throws them in a pan of water resting on the stove. "Well, what would he go as?"

"He likes Toy Story. I was thinking we could get him a Woody costume," she suggests nonchalantly, giving her shoulders a small shrug as she moves over to the back door to pick up Jack's water bowl. It's half empty, and while the dog is most likely curled up in front of the fire wanting for nothing, she still refills it. They move around each other like a well oiled machine now, Robin checking on their dinner as Regina makes sure Jack's dog biscuits are well stocked. Then she turns on the faucet to clean the plate still holding the remnants of Roland's mac 'n' cheese.

Said child is currently tucked up in bed, utterly oblivious to her efforts to take him trick-or-treating for the first time. She doesn't want to tell Roland, doesn't want to get his hopes up in case Robin puts his foot down and says no.

"Where am I going to find a Woody costume now? Four days before Halloween?"

Regina freezes at the sink, then slowly pushes the tap back to stop the steady flow of hot water, clears her throat and looks over her shoulder to meet his eyes. She's being obviously coy, sheepish, painfully transparent as Robin snorts and shakes his head.

"You've already bought the costume, haven't you?"

"Well I had to act fast or it wouldn't have arrived in time! I couldn't just get him some crappy thing from any old supermarket, could I?! It's his first time trick-or-treating. He has to have the best costume."

Robin shakes his head, makes a noise that lands somewhere between a heavy sigh and a grunt of exasperation, then moves over to where she stands. "You can take him," he says, planting both hands on either side of her face as her eyes light up and she nods.

"I'll take him," she assures happily.

"And you can put him to bed after all that sugar," he tells her, his face inching closer and closer as she stands on her tip toes.

"I will do bedtime on Friday," she repeats back.

"Fine," he says into her lips as she grins. "You win."

Regina hums into his kiss, pulls his body close as she basks in her triumph. She doesn't really know why she's so desperate to take Roland out. Halloween isn't her favourite holiday, not by a long shot, but this is the first one she's ever spent without Henry. And when she realised that last week, after he'd excitedly told her Emma organised a small get together and his friends were allowed to the party too, Regina wanted nothing more than to go home and see Henry apple-bobbing in his costume first hand.

That is a pipe dream, though, and she'll be damned if she's to spend the night sitting indoors feeling sorry for herself when she can take an overly excited four-year-old out with the dog and watch his face light up with each candy he receives.

She's already got the entire day mapped out in her head, has decided she'll work over Thursday night so she can abandon paperwork in the afternoon, pick Roland up from school, take him out for dinner and then spend the evening stuffing their faces with candy. Roland's costume isn't the only one she ordered the other night, but she keeps that to herself, wants to see the look on Robin's face when his little boy is securely tucked in bed and she strolls into the bedroom wearing _her _Halloween costume.

The one that's entirely inappropriate, not in the least bit comfortable, and comes with accessories that make her stomach flutter with excitement at the prospect of using them.

The subject is left alone for the rest of the night, after Regina fills Robin in on her Halloween traditions with Henry, the ones she used to do with her sisters when they were young enough to get a kick out of the holiday.

They settle on the couch after dinner, cuddled up in a lazy, peaceful state with full bellies and drowsy eyes as the fire crackles and the television buzzes quietly. This is her very favourite time of day. When she and Robin can just _be_, can just bask in the simpleness of putting Roland to bed and grabbing food before curling up in front of the TV. When they don't have to pretend to be anything more than a couple fast falling in love, excited about a new relationship and everything that comes with it.

"Are you still okay for the 7th?" Robin asks quietly a short while later. "I'm booking the tickets tomorrow and need a head count."

She nods and snuggles further into his side with a yawn. "I should be able to sneak away for the weekend. Although I hope you don't think you're getting me on any roller-coasters, Mister."

Regina went to Coney Island once, when she was seventeen, braved one ride, threw up the corn dog she'd just eaten, and has never been to a theme park since. Half term has finally rolled round, and Robin is making good on his promise to take Roland to Cbeebies World. She's looked it up on the net ... Cbeebies World just so happens to be inside Alton Towers, one of this country's biggest theme parks. Robin has assured her it's actually very nice, set deep in the countryside further north, and home to one of England's oldest castles.

Why anyone would build a barrage of stinking, great roller-coasters around a castle is beyond Regina.

"Oh come on, what's the point in going to a theme park if you don't go on the rides?" He chuckles, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders and pressing a kiss into her hair.

"So your son can enjoy the children's bit he's been desperate to go to since the summer?"

"Yes ... and enjoy it he will. But there's enough of us going to watch the kids _and_ go into the actual park as well, you know."

Regina snorts, rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she looks up to meet his gaze. "Who's coming again?"

"Let's see, there'll be ... you, me, Mulan, Aurora, Wendy, her boyfriend Dante ... she's bringing Michael and John, too ... and Tuck."

"Won't they find it weird you've asked your lawyer to come away for the weekend?" She asks with a frown, torn between the blissful idea of going away with Robin and Roland for a few days and needing to keep their relationship secret.

Robin meets her frown with one of his own. "Well ... it was Mulan's idea to ask you."

"It was?" She asks in surprise, panic edging its way into her veins. That doesn't sound right ... unless she's just begun to think of Regina as their friend now, as one of the gang. Hopefully it's the latter, because if someone has guessed they're sleeping together, then they aren't being as discreet as she thinks. And if Mulan has guessed ... how many others have too?

The niggling worry doesn't leave her that night, as she nestles down into Robin's bed (not his arms, she's learned these past weeks that as willing as he is to cuddle up after sex, he just can't get to sleep if she's lying all over him. He likes his space, and she is all to happy to let him have it ... mainly because the second she's sure he's asleep, she rolls over and snuggles up to him anyway. Robin always moans when he wakes and she's glued to his side, tells her she's his own personal furnace, but has yet to tell her to stop doing it. Not that she'd listen if he asked ... she _likes_ to sleep in his arms).

-§-

The week starts badly.

Monday morning has them waking up to his case printed in a national newspaper. A tabloid, and while it isn't front page news and comes with no pictures to speak of, it still makes Robin pale with worry when Tuck calls to inform him. Regina is busy dragging a brush through Roland's hair in his room (ignoring his cries of, _it doesn't need brushing, Regina_, as he fumbles with the buttons of his school shirt), when she hears Robin swearing from the kitchen. She kisses the top of Roland's head, tells him to carry on getting dressed while she goes and makes his breakfast.

"Yeah, I know," he's saying into the phone as she enters, sighing heavily. She throws a glance down to the laptop sitting on the table, sees the headline and feels the bottom drop out from her stomach. His case is now national news. Robin looks as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, so she moves to stand behind him, and wraps her arms around his torso while he finishes the conversation.

"It was just the very last fucking thing I needed. If clients see this, I'm done for, and it's not just my business on the line, it's John's too."

She waits in silence while the conversation plays out, rocking back and forth with her head pillowed between his shoulder blades. Roland will be down any second, she knows, demanding to know where his Cheerios are, and she hopes Robin can school the tension in his expression when his son enters the room.

The last thing he needs right now is more stress because Roland has been intuitive enough to know something is going on at home. It will just affect his behavior in school even more.

Said behavior has been ... questionable ... the past few weeks. Robin has been in and spoken to his teacher, has sat Roland down and asked him out-right if there is something bothering him, if someone is teasing him or if he's struggling with his homework. The child's answer is always the same: "_No_, Daddy."

Regina doesn't buy it, not for a second, still fears something is going on, but she and Robin can't get anything else out of him, and while the tears each morning haven't altogether stopped, his actual school work, the reading and writing his teacher had concerns about in particular, _have_ begun to improve. So they drop it, and trust that if Roland has anything he wants to tell them, he will.

Two days later, her fears are proved right, and Robin's week just gets worse.

She's sitting in Gold's office when he calls, (it's finally usable again, much to Regina's chagrin), finalising a list of questions with Mel they'll be using to question Robin's character witnesses. She knows her phone has been buzzing, but as she glanced down at the screen to make sure it wasn't Mary Margaret or Emma, Regina had slipped the cell back into her purse with a mental note to call Robin just as soon as she was free.

She's sitting directly beside Lennie, who has ears as sharp as an owl's and is just nosey enough to use them, so she can't answer his first call.

She misses the next three.

It's only when Belle pops her head through the door with a soft knock, does Regina even get a chance to sneak another look at her cell and see there's four missed calls, two texts and a voicemail from him. That's when she panics.

"Regina, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but there's a phone call for you in reception," the Australian beauty tells her, and she breathes a sigh of relief that Robin has at least the good sense not to have told Belle it was him calling. She excuses herself from the team, then hurries down the corridor to reception, picking up the phone in a worried frenzy.

"Robin?" She says after throwing a glance around the room to make sure she's alone.

"I've been trying to call you for the past twenty minutes," he tells her. He sounds stressed, snappy, nothing like his usual self, but there isn't exactly panic in his voice ... so it dilutes Regina's a little.

"My cell was in my purse, what's the matter?"

He sighs heavily on the other end of the line. "I really need you to go and get Roland. The school has just phoned me to tell me he's been suspended for hitting another child."

"He's _what?!_"

"Apparently, he hit a little girl in the face, and they have a no tolerance policy, so he won't be allowed back until after half term-"

"Woah, woah, hold on. Why the hell did he hit someone?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He's staying tight lipped, he wouldn't even talk to me on the phone." She shakes her head in disbelief, wondering just what's gone on as Robin carries on. "I can't go and get him, we've had a huge order of tables and chairs we were building for a restaurant that's threatened to pull out because they've seen my case in the paper. It's been a nightmare, John's trying to talk the guy around now ... I," he pauses on the phone, seemingly collecting his irritation or worry. "I don't know what to do."

Regina feels her heart melt. She doesn't know if he's talking about Roland, or work, or both, but the fact that he's called her before anyone else means something to her. She wishes she was with him, wishes she could kiss away the stress and knead her thumbs into his shoulders until he's relaxed.

He has nothing to relax about, she knows that, but still, she wishes all the same.

"Don't worry about Roland," she tells him firmly. She might not be able to hold him or kiss him like she wants right this second, but she can do this for him. "Just focus on work, I'll go to the school and get to the bottom of it."

He sighs heavily, through stress, through relief, she's not sure. "Thank you. I'll call the school and tell them you're coming. I'm not sure how long I'll be here trying to sort this mess out-"

"It's _fine_, just do whatever you have to. I've got Roland."

It's not fine, but not really. She's got about a million things she needs to get done for Gold, not to mention the emails from her students are in double digits again (she really will kill that temp when she gets back to Harvard). She hasn't got time to drop everything and go to Roland, but she will, without hesitation or question because she cares for this little boy, maybe even loves him, this dimple-cheeked kid that's snuck into her heart just as quickly as his father has. He's not hers, she knows that, has been logically telling herself that for the past few weeks, whenever the muscle-memory of parenting has been as fast as a reflex and she's found herself _mothering_ him. When he's asked for her help with his homework, or to read to him with Robin at bedtime, when she's instinctively checked the temperature of his bath water, or made him eat his vegetables, when she's gone out of her way to make sure his favourite pajamas are clean. She's yelled at herself, over and over because she shouldn't _be _doing these things, no matter how natural it might feel.

Her heart ignores her head though, when it comes to these Locksleys. So yes, she'll go and get Roland. It isn't even a question.

He says thank you once more, then hastily bids her goodbye. Regina sighs when she drops the phone back onto the receiver, pinches the bridge of her nose as she mentally prepares herself for a fight with the school or whoever has upset him. That has to be it. She cannot fathom another reason for Roland misbehaving so badly. He knows not to hit, and he's a gentle little boy (has told Regina off in the past for accidentally stepping on Jack's paw), he wouldn't ever purposefully hit another person unless he was provoked.

She might not have known him his whole life, but she knows him well enough to be sure of that.

She heads back to the rest of the team and tells Gold she needs to leave early. He raises his eyebrows in curious surprise, but thankfully cares little about her personal life, so he doesn't ask why, just tells her to make sure her questions are ready for him to look over by tomorrow. There's an internal groan on Regina's part - it means she'll be working tonight - but she doesn't push his lenience by asking if she can have an extra day.

It takes nearly thirty minutes to get from Gold's office to the school, and by the time she arrives, Regina is spitting venom at London traffic, and her novice cabbie, who seemingly took the longest route possible to get to Richmond. She slams the door when she gets out and storms across the playground, up the few steps leading to reception with her head held high and her jaw set.

She is in no mood to be messed with right now, her temper getting worse with each passing minute with concern for Roland, with anger at the school and this mysterious man who's threatening to take business away from Robin.

The girl sitting behind the glass screen at the front of the building looks preppy, has her long, blonde hair in a high ponytail that swishes with every move of her head. She's wearing a soft pink blouse buttoned right up to the neck, writing furiously with a pen that has an offensive ball of pink fluff on the end. She looks up with big, doe eyes as Regina slams her hands down on the work surface, and it makes her mood sour even further for no real reason.

"May I help you?" She asks politely, her high pitched voice running straight through Regina.

"My name is Regina Mills, I'm here to pick up my boyfriend's-"

"Miss Mills," a voice says to her left, pulls her attention from the young girl at the desk (probably a good thing, because the poor blonde looks terrified of her). The woman making her way over is older, shorter than Regina, has an air of authority around her that only a principal would carry. She looks like she could put the fear of God into everyone she meets.

Well, Regina thinks as she stands taller and looks her up and down, she hasn't met _me_.

"If you'd like to follow me," she says, gesturing to the corridor adjacent to the reception desk. Regina follows without question, glares at the preppy blonde as she passes, and is led into the office where Roland is being kept.

Her eyes sweep over the room; Roland sits with his head down, shoulders hitching with every sob, on one of two chairs in front of a wide desk beside the window. A little girl, and a woman Regina can only assume is her mother, sit on a small couch by the door. The woman is holding an ice pack over her daughter's cheek, so she can't gauge the damage Roland might've caused (though if the injury was serious, there would surely be a nurse of some kind in here too). The little girl is big for her age, Regina thinks as she takes her in. Stockey and tall, taller than Roland (which isn't difficult because he's so little). She wears her red hair in pigtails and has very blotchy, pink cheeks from her tears as she leans into her mother's chest sadly.

Regina makes her way over to where Roland sits, kneels down before him and leans in. He hiccoughs, sniffs loudly, and with her very gentle, "Roland", he shifts his gaze up to meet hers.

Her heart breaks. His eyes are wide, swimming with tears, lashes blacker than black with the wetness that clings there. She reaches up, cups his face in both hands and gently strokes both thumbs over the salty dampness sitting on his cheeks. His bottom lip trembles, and in an instant he throws himself forward and into her arms. If he were any bigger she'd have fallen backwards, but he isn't, and she lifts him up easily to sit in his chair whilst holding him on her lap. He hides his face in the crook of her neck while she rubs his back and rocks him, soothes him with soft shushs and reassures him _it's okay_.

The principal stays quiet, let's Regina have a moment with Roland before moving to sit behind her desk and look over the top of her glasses as she clears her throat.

"Now, obviously, we've had a bit of an incident in class today," she starts, and the woman on the couch snorts.

"A bit of an incident?" She repeats, voice shrill and curt. "My daughter has been attacked!"

"Mrs. Sherman, please," the older woman breathes wearily. Clearly, she doesn't want this getting out of hand any more than Regina does. It takes every ounce of restraint she has not to snap, not to stand up and yell in this woman's face. Roland is all of three feet tall. 'Attacking' anyone wouldn't exactly be feasible even if he was big enough to put any real force into it. "I can assure you all any of us want is to get to the bottom of this."

"I know what happened! _That boy_ hit my daughter in a totally unprovoked attack! She has a mark on her face!"

The woman, Mrs. Sherman, pulls back the ice pack on the girl's face, and Regina has to squint her eyes to find the 'mark' in question. It's tiny, a little scratch on her cheek, slightly red, but honestly, Regina has seen a papercut do more damage.

"There are two sides to every story, Mrs. Sherman. We haven't heard what Roland has to say yet-"

Mrs. Sherman scoffs again, then glares at Regina, who feels her breathing getting heavier as her jaw clenches with anger. "What is there to say?! I know exactly who this boy is, who his father is. It's no wonder he's going around threatening other children."

"_Excuse me?_" Regina spits, blood boiling. "I'll thank you not to have an opinion on something you're completely ignorant about."

"Pur-lease, I've read all about the case in the paper. Why he's not behind bars is beyond me!"

"Mrs. Sherman!" The Principal cries, openly mortified at the turn the situation has taken.

Regina, however, goes quiet, tries with all her might not to let Roland feel her limbs shaking with the murderous rage that courses through her veins. If the little girl is anything like her mother, it's no fucking wonder he hit her. She takes a very deep breath, then speaks through gritted teeth. "You'd better watch what you're saying, lady."

"You can't talk to me like that!"

"I'll talk to you however I damn well please!" She snaps loudly, then schools her fury, takes another deep breath and reminds herself there are children present. "Now if you'd kindly keep your mouth shut, I'd like to ask Roland exactly why this happened."

Mrs. Sherman looks outraged, but Regina turns her attention to Roland before she can say another word. He's not crying as much now, instead looks frightened and small. It makes Regina want nothing more than to cuddle him into her chest and take him home. She strokes her fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to his temple, demeanour changing from anger to motherly in the blink of an eye.

"You wanna tell me what happened, little guy?" She asks him quietly, only looking in his eyes and praying their relationship has gotten strong enough that he trusts her here like he would Robin. He shoots a worried look over to the principal. "You can whisper it if you need to. Don't be scared, it's okay. There isn't anything you can't tell me."

He shrugs his shoulders then mumbles something along the lines of,_ but I'll be in trouble_, and Regina finds herself glancing up at the principal.

She leans in closer, touches their foreheads together and softly tells him, "You know what I think?" He shrugs again. "I think it's always better to tell the truth. Even if you think you'll get into trouble for it. Everyone makes mistakes and does bad things sometimes … it's how we make up for them that counts. So maybe if you tell me why you hit …" She looks up at the principal again, wordlessly communicates that she doesn't yet know this girl's name - the principal hasn't exactly been professional enough to introduce Regina to anyone. The woman tells her it's Darla, and Regina turns her attention back to the little boy in her lap. "Maybe if you tell me why you hit Darla, then you can apologise and we can make it all better."

He sniffs a little more, snuggles closer into her chest before more tears leak from his eyes and he cries, "Darla said Daddy is going away to jail and I've got to live all by myself."

There it is. Regina feels horrified as he sobs openly in her arms, holds his head to her chest and rocks him as her heart breaks and her fury fills her veins. Darla is four years old. The only way she would have known to say something so nasty is if she's heard it from her parents. Regina looks up and glowers at Mrs. Sherman from across the room.

"Now, Darla, is this true?" The principal asks. "Did you say that to Roland?"

The girl looks up at her mother, who stands up in defence. "It shouldn't matter what she said! The point is that he attacked my child! I don't want him in this school!"

Regina reaches boiling point.

She swings Roland off her lap onto the chair next to her and stands up so fast Mrs. Sherman actually steps back. Inwardly, Regina smirks, knows she has all the power here, so she takes a small step forward. The lawyer in her comes out, the stone faced smart alec she's known to be creeping into her persona like a predator surrounding its prey. She wants to scream, wants to claw this woman's eyes out for being so judgmental, for jeopardizing Roland's future at school, but she doesn't need to.

The principal has stood up now too, holding her breath as Regina and Mrs. Sherman stare each other down, clearly waiting for some sort of shouting match to take place. It won't come to that, Regina won't let it. Not with two small children in the room. She can hardly punish Roland for lashing out when he's angry if she goes and does the same thing right in front of him. So she takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, it's full of the kind of professionalism she only delivers in court.

"Mrs. Sherman," she starts. "I'm very sorry that your daughter has been hurt today. I know Roland wouldn't have intentionally set out to do that. He will absolutely be apologising and appropriately punished for his behaviour. I would, however, like Darla to apologise to Roland."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Sherman spits, cocking an eyebrow.

"It seems quite clear to me that Roland only lashed out because Darla upset him. Now, I don't know what kind of parent you are, quite frankly, I don't care. What I do care about is that you're talking to your four-year-old about, what I feel, is something completely inappropriate for her to know. Not to mention something that has been utterly fabricated by the press and is of no concern of yours."

"It most certainly is my concern if my daughter is going to school with the son of a murderer!"

The principal drops her head in her hand as Regina feels the vein in her forehead pop and her fingers curl into a very tight fist. She glares over at the older woman.

"Take the children outside." It's an order, one spoken very quietly, and when the principal hesitates somewhat, Regina grits her teeth. "Now."

Mrs. Sherman's face drops as the teacher ushers Darla and Roland out of the office.

"I … I-" she stammers, clearly worried now that she's lost her audience in the principal.

"Just who the hell do you think you are? Talking about Roland's father like that _in front of him_?! It's no wonder he's so distraught!"

The woman before her sighs slightly, closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that, I simply-"

"No? You didn't mean to scare him witless into thinking he's going to be an orphan? Tell me, Mrs. Sherman, would you ever let anyone talk like that in front of your daughter? About your husband?" Silence. "I didn't think so. Why the hell do you think it's okay to do so in front of Roland?"

"You must understand some of the concerns the parents are having. That this is happening so close to home!"

"My family's current situation has nothing to do with you, or any other parent for that matter. Robin's case isn't affecting anyone in this school … apart from his son, thanks to you! What you've read in the paper is completely unfounded. I would have hoped parents at this school to at least have the common sense not to listen to the bull shit they read in _tabloids_. You know nothing of what we're going through right now, and the one place his father and I count on for Roland to have some normalcy is this school, and now what am I supposed to tell him, hm?! He's been upset for weeks now coming here, and I swear to god, if I find out your daughter has been bullying him on any occasion other than today, you'd best _pray_ you and I don't run into each other again."

She gets more worked up with every word, eyes moistening with angry tears as she talks expressively with her hands. The words are getting stuck in her throat, the ones she wants to use to defend Robin, the ones that should come as naturally as breathing to her, but they're gone. Lost in a sea of emotion because there's _so much_ she could say to this woman to stop her from thinking of Robin as a murderer, so many things coming into her head that she can't decide where to start. Another, more stubborn, part of her tells her to keep shut, to let this woman and the possy of prissy, judgmental parents she associates with think whatever the hell they want to think.

Regina and Robin know the truth, and that's all that matters.

Only, that is not the case. Will never be the case because they have a child to think of. They are adults … they are prepared for the onslaught of ill-informed opinions, know to ignore snide comments and the ignorance that comes with them. Roland does not. How will they ever explain this to him? They can't tell him Darla is making up horrible lies, because if the worst happens and Robin is sent down, they risk losing Roland's trust. So … what? Daddy might be going away, but please ignore anyone who says nasty things?

She sighs heavily, pinches the bridge of her nose - there is a dull ache brewing between her eyes, the result of the angst that comes with parenting. "I would really appreciate it if you could please tell your daughter not to say such things to Roland. I can't stop you from worrying about what Robin is supposed to have done, but this is hard enough on Roland as it is, he doesn't need his school life disrupted too."

Regina marches past Mrs. Sherman, leaves her dumbfounded before she really loses her temper and does something she'll later regret. Roland and Darla are both sitting with the preppy blonde when she exits the office, both sulking, but neither crying, and Regina makes a conscious effort to give Roland a bright smile as she walks over.

"What do you say you and I go home and have a talk, baby?" She says gently, and he nods before jumping off his chair and clutching onto her hand. The blonde passes Roland's school bag to her over the desk, and Regina turns to face the principal. "So he won't be back in school until the week after next?"

"I'm afraid not. The suspension will last two days, and then of course next week is half term. Roland will be expected back in class on the 10th."

She nods, glances a look down at Roland, and then meets the principal's eyes once more. "I'll be bringing him that day. I'd like to have a conversation with his teacher, Mrs. Potts … find out the real reason he's been so upset coming to school."

"Sometimes children pick up on things we don't mean them to-"

"No. You don't get to blame me and his father for this. I understand all too well how our situation can affect people, _believe me_," she says firmly. She can't tell her the reason she understands is because she's usually the one explaining this to her clients. The school cannot know she is really Robin's lawyer. "Regardless of what's happening at home, I'm really not happy with the lack of support from your school. You should be trying to help Roland … not encourage the rumour mill happening between the parents."

"I'm very sorry you feel that way-"

"Can you blame me? You may be the first to preach no judging, but you've yet to actually introduce yourself to me, so … I guess there's a preconceived opinion right there." She lowers her voice. "Girlfriend of a murderer, right?" The principal looks dumbfounded as Regina rolls her eyes in disgust. "We'll see you on the 10th. Come on, Roland."

-§-

They're half way across the playground, walking in silence, hand-in-hand when she hears it.

"Mrs. Locksley!"

It makes her heart stop, and Regina turns slowly. Mrs. Sherman is hurrying across the gravel as fast as her kitten heels will allow, hair blowing in the wind that arrived with October and hasn't let up since. When she reaches them, she waits for her breathing to even out before speaking, seemingly using the pause to think of what to say. Regina pulls Roland closer to her as a deep frown sets between her brows, drapes her arm protectively across his body.

"I just … I just wanted to apologise. And tell you you're right. I wouldn't want anyone talking like that in front of Darla. I shouldn't have done so in front of your son. It was inexcusable, and I hope you'll accept my apology."

Regina offers the woman a stony silence, looks her up and down before giving her a curt nod. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

She doesn't correct the woman on her mistake, doesn't bother to tell her that no, she isn't Mrs. Locksley, and Roland isn't actually her son. Her heart flutters at the thought - that someone genuinely thinks this little boy is hers, that she's Robin's wife, and in some far off corner of her mind she indulges in the images of a wedding that will never happen, children that will never be born, of them 'playing house' in the sunshine like some 1950s detergent commercial, and while she will never be the housewife kind, wouldn't ever _want _to be a housewife, the thought still warms her heart. That they could just be a normal family.

But is that notion such a bizarre one? Is it so ridiculous for this woman to believe that Regina could be Roland's mother? The thoughts plague her mind as they make their way home, and she tries, desperately so, to bat them away but they're there now. Planted like a seed, growing with every passing minute, and as she thinks back over the past few weeks, the way she's been mothering Roland, how easily they've fallen into their relationship, she comes to realise that actually … being his mother is exactly what she's been doing. It's been as natural as breathing.

When they reach home ... _home_, another thing she's noticed as of late. It's no longer just Robin's place. It's home. She turns the key in the lock (the set Robin told her to keep last week when she'd forgotten Jack's ball and gone back to the house to pick it up, leaving the boys playing with sticks in the park) and asks Roland to go straight upstairs to his bedroom. She sighs as she watches him go, dragging his feet sadly up every step, hanging his head. Not even Jack can coax his dimples into deepening with a smile.

Regina sends Robin a quick text before throwing her purse at the foot of the stairs, kicking off her heels and following Roland up to his bedroom. _We're home now. I'll explain when you get back, but Roland is okay. Hope work isn't too bad x _

Roland is curled up on his bed when she reaches his room, clutching Ruff to his chest, mouth cast down and eyes following her every move as she lowers herself down next to him. She's silent for a while, just watches him watching her, softly combing her fingers through his hair, thumb gliding across his cheek. His skin is still red and blotchy from crying, his eyes sore, lids drooping because he must be exhausted after his day, and this conversation is the absolute last thing Regina wants right now, she wants to curl up on his bed with him and rock him while he sleeps. She wants to drift off herself, wants to get lost in a dream that has her and Robin in an entirely different situation. Not one that could screw up lives and mean she's left with her soul broken if he's sent to prison and Roland is forced to be raised in a tiny apartment above a tattoo parlour in Shoreditch.

Regina likes Mulan, really, she does. But it doesn't mean she agrees with the evidential way Roland would be raised, should he have to go and live with her.

"Do we have to tell Daddy?" He asks her quietly, and she smiles sympathetically, nods sadly then takes a deep breath. She forgets sometimes, no longer being Henry's main carer, just how draining parenting can be.

"Yes."

"Are you mad at me?"

She shakes her head, thinking carefully before choosing her next words. "No, I'm not mad, sweetheart. But Roland, I need you to understand how wrong you were to hit that little girl. Things could have gotten very serious."

"But she said Daddy-"

"I don't care what she said. I know she upset you, and Darla has agreed to say she's sorry for that. But her teasing you doesn't excuse your behaviour, do you hear me? You don't hit people, you do not lash out when you're angry."

"I know," he mumbles, holding Ruff closer to his chest. "I'm sorry."

Regina gauges him for a moment before sighing. "Come here," she says gently, pulling him up to give her a cuddle. "I know you're sorry. Thank you for apologising. Now you have to promise me you'll never do anything like that ever again, okay?"

He nods, "I promise."

"If you get angry like that again you promise me you'll walk away and come and tell me or Daddy, or your teacher. Yes?" He nods again, then buries his head in the crook of her neck, Ruff firmly squashed between them. She squeezes him for a second, then pulls back to lock his dark eyes with her own. "Now I want you to tell me the truth, Roland. Has Darla been teasing you since school started?"

He fidgets in her lap for a second, then nods sadly. "She's bigger than me and told everyone not to play with me at playtime."

A fresh wave of rage washes over Regina, but she reins herself in, takes a deep breath and nods slowly at Roland's revelation. "I wish you'd have told me or Daddy, honey. We could have helped."

"I didn't want Daddy to think I wasn't brave. He said on my first day I should be brave at school."

"I think he just meant that when you go somewhere new, it can be a bit scary at first so it's good to be brave. But I know he wouldn't like to think you've been so upset, that the other children are being mean. You must always tell us if you're feeling sad about anything, okay?"

He nods, mumbles out an _m'kay_, and when he speaks again, his voice is very quiet. "Regina? Is Daddy going to jail?"

Her breath catches in her throat at his question, mind racing with panic as she searches for the best answer. How does she soothe his worries without outright lying to his face? She wishes Robin was here for this. He'd know exactly what to say to make his son feel better. Not to mention she wouldn't have to sit here and stress to death whether or not her response would be one Robin approves of. One wrong move on her part, and things could go catastrophically wrong.

She takes a deep breath, and sends up a silent prayer that her answer is the right one.

"I really hope not, baby. But a nasty man did something to Daddy and now people think he's done something bad. I don't want Daddy to go to jail, and he definitely doesn't want to go, but no matter what happens, I promise you Roland, you're not going to be alone. I'm not gonna let that happen."

She watches with bated breath as Roland processes the information, the cogs in his mind turning as his face looks somber, and she hopes to god he's too young to figure out that if Robin goes to jail, there's a very good chance Roland won't see him for a very long time. He's four-years-old, Regina reasons, he probably has no real idea of what 'going to jail' actually means. He's probably just repeating what Darla has said to him.

"But if Daddy has to go away, then I'll have to live by myself with Jack."

She almost smiles at his innocence. He hasn't asked a question, and yet there's an endearing worry behind his eyes as she looks down into them, because he clearly thinks if Robin leaves him, he'll be left in this house all by himself with the dog and his toys.

"Listen to me, Roland," she tells him, voice unwavering, and she has never in her life been surer of anything than what she is about to say right this second. She locks their eyes, and bumps her forehead against his. "I will never, ever, _ever_ let you live by yourself with Jack. Who would cook you mac 'n' cheese if I wasn't here, hm?" It works, the slightly playful manner in which she speaks, and Roland gives her a little giggle. She chuckles before letting her expression grow serious once more. "Sweetheart, we don't know yet what will happen with Daddy. But I promise you with all my heart …_ if _he has to go away, you're not going to be alone, because you'll always have me, okay?"

He bobs his head, gives her a small smile and then wraps his little arms around her neck. Regina feels her heart swell as she clutches his body closer to her own and angles her head to smother him in loud, wet kisses that make him laugh out loud in her arms.

"Regina," he snickers. "That tickles!" She laughs, carries on nuzzling his neck, feeling nothing but relief that she's salvaged the situation. She pulls back a moment later, when he's breathless and giddy, when his eyes are dancing and dimples have deepened, and it's the first time in weeks he looks so carefree, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. There's a part of her heart that aches for him, that at such a young age he's tried to suck it up and live miserably instead of just telling Robin about the children teasing him. Another part still riled up at the way the faculty at his school have handled the entire thing and at the utter bull shit the parents are gossiping about.

And yet, maybe it's the fact he's finally opened up, maybe it's the way she's eased his worries about Robin, maybe it's merely that she's sent him into a tickle frenzy, but as she looks down at Roland, Regina can see the little boy feels better. She can't stop the smile that spreads across her mouth, and Regina leans in to brush her nose against his.

"What do you say you and I go and take Jack to the park? We can go and get ice cream."

Roland looks delighted by the idea, and as they scramble back up to their feet and exit the bedroom, he slips his hand into hers and happily tells her, "You're the best mommy ever, Regina."

-§-

She spends the rest of the afternoon in a silent state of stress.

She's completely put her foot in her mouth. Now Roland thinks she's his mom, and while Regina isn't particularly adverse to the idea, she has no idea how Robin will react. They've known each other two months. They've only been _dating_ all of three weeks, and yet she seems to have lead his child into thinking she's his mother. But then … Roland has no reason not to assume that. She's spent almost every night with them, helping with homework, playing his games, putting him in the bath and then to bed … she's been actively parenting alongside Robin for the past two months and has now told Roland he'll never not have her. The fact he's put two and two together and made six-hundred isn't his fault … it's hers. She doesn't say a word to Roland, spends the hours between Jack's walk and his bedtime panicking, because she can't tell him that she's not his mother. What kind of signals would that send to the poor kid?

Robin arrives home in the evening, as Regina is sitting by the tub rinsing the shampoo out of Roland's hair. The front door shuts with a slam, and even before she's seen him, she knows his mood is foul. Roland stops playing with the bubbles in the water immediately, throws Regina a very worried look and gulps. She stands, kisses the top of his head and tells him she'll be right back before rubbing her hands dry on her jeans (she changed from her pant suit before they took Jack out. She keeps clothes here now, a few tees, some clean underwear. Things to wear on the weekend that save her trekking across London to her hotel), and making her way downstairs.

He's standing in the kitchen skimming the front page of the paper, already nursing a bottle of beer and his coat isn't even off yet. Shit. This will not go well. Regina winces, creeps into the room like a deer caught in headlights before he looks up from his front page and catches her eye.

His shoulders sag as their eyes meet, blue on brown, softening his expression somewhat, but doing nothing to take the stress from his face.

"Hey," she whispers, pausing in the doorframe, fidgeting with her hands as he drops his bottle on the counter and rubs his face tiredly. "Should I even ask how it went?"

Robin sighs heavily, finally shedding his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair. "We managed to talk him round … the man in charge of the order. It wasn't easy. We've had to give a discount so high it's barely worth us doing the job, but …"

"But at least he didn't back out. And you might not make much money from it, but that doesn't mean it won't help," Regina tells him.

"Where's Roland?" He asks after nodding in agreement. She wants to ask more, wants to know exactly what happened this afternoon, but she gets the feeling if she pries then she'll be on the receiving end of a temper - and she has the good sense to know not to push his buttons right now.

"He's just in the tub. He's fine, Robin."

"But the school-"

"It's fine. We'll talk about this after, when he's in bed. I think right now he just wants to see you." Robin nods, abandons his beer and eases his way past Regina to make for the stairs. "Robin?" She calls, stops him on the third step as she moves to follow. "Don't …" she starts, then pauses. How can she word this without sounding like she's trying to tell him how to parent? "Don't bombard him with questions tonight, okay? He's … he's had a long day."

He pauses for a second before nodding and carrying on up the stairs. Regina hangs back, decides to let them have a moment together while she finishes the dishes and feeds Jack, mind reeling with all the things she and Robin have to talk about. The day had been long, but the night promises to be even longer, and just the notion makes her reach for the beer he's left on the side. She takes a long, deep swig.

How exactly did it come to this? She wonders, puttering around the house, putting away toys and books, straightening cushions. Roland's school bag still sits by the front door, and she sighs heavily as she picks it up and takes it through to the front room, dropping to the couch in a heap before pulling out the school work and letters stuffed inside. There's the usual, some reading homework, a page of upper and lower case letters Roland hs managed to shakily copy out, and a letter clearly placed inside by the preppy blonde that sat behind reception. Regina skims the words and scowls as she reads … _violence_ … _no tolerance_ …_ report _… _current home situation_. Words that make her ire begin to simmer once again.

She isn't an idiot, she knows full well Roland has to suffer consequences for lashing out. But it does not sit well with Regina that he's being punished for reaching the end of his tether, and the kids in class doing the bullying will seemingly get away scott-free. She sits with the beer and the letter, letting her mind churn, feeling her muscles tense with the shit day they've all had while Robin finishes Roland's bath time.

She can hear laughter coming from upstairs now, and she's glad Robin's had the sense not to go in guns blazing and really yell at his son for his actions in class. She hears the hairdryer go on, and bang on cue Jack comes trotting into the front room (the dog hates the hairdryer, she's learned, and the hoover, will bolt as soon as either has been turned on). Jack stares at her from the floor, and Regina presses her mouth into a line. She doesn't think pets should be allowed on the furniture, something Robin isn't all too bothered about, but finds herself sighing, giving in to the big, dark puppy eyes she's on the other end of and reaching down to lift him up to the couch. He's too old to jump up now, only has enough energy for this walk and even that tends to knock him out for the count.

It's another fifteen minutes of sitting in silence, absentmindedly stroking the dog's fur, before Robin re-emerges with Roland sitting on his hip wrapped in his green, fluffy dressing gown, Ruff tucked securely under his arm.

"We've just come down to say goodnight," Robin tells her as she sits forward and smiles warmly. Roland leans down, away from Robin to reach for her. Regina holds out her arms, pulls him close and kisses his soft hair as he settles in her lap. "What do we say to Regina?" Robin asks.

"Thank you for getting me from school today," he tells her, as though reciting something he's been practicing upstairs. Regina chuckles.

"You're most welcome, sweetheart. You remember what we talked about earlier?" She asks, avoiding Robin's curious gaze, and Roland nods firmly. "Sleep well, baby," she says with a smile, and Roland leans in to peck her lips with a kiss.

"Goodnight, Regina."

It's another thirty minutes before Robin's back downstairs, joining her with another beer and a heavy, drained sigh. He shifts Jack from his position on the couch, picks him up and watches as he moves to curl in front of the fire before dropping to the couch with a thud. She smiles at him sympathetically, reaches over to lace their fingers together.

"How do you feel?"

"Honestly?" He asks, and she nods. "Like shit."

"I'm sorry. I know today hasn't exactly been banner."

Robin scoffs, drops his head on the back of the couch, tells her she_ can say that again_, then basks for a few moments in silence. "Roland told me about Darla," he says quietly. "Now I feel awful. He didn't come and tell me he was being teased because I told him to be brave at school. What kind of a parent does that make me?"

"Don't do that," she tells him firmly. "Don't blame yourself for this, you've done nothing wrong. It's Darla's parents who need to feel bad, not you. You're a wonderful father." Regina shuffles herself towards him, rests her free hand on his cheek and strokes his rough stubble, hoping it's enough to comfort him.

"Roland is the one who lashed out, not Darla."

Regina snorts, "Yeah well, don't tell Roland I said this but I don't think I blame him. If that kid is anything like her mother, I'd have clocked her one too."

"I guess your day has been about as good as mine," he chuckles.

"You have no idea," she breathes with a smile.

"Thank you … for being there today. I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't."

"Of course," she says, then feels butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach. She needs to tell him, this is her window to admit that she might've accidentally wormed her way into Robin's family further than he wants her to. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and maybe it won't be as bad as she thinks … maybe he'll just laugh it off and tell her _kids! _Like Roland has just done something highly amusing and not assumed Regina is his mother after three weeks of dating. Or maybe he'll get so mad he'll send her packing.

Oh god … he is going to send her packing.

"Robin-"

"Mulan called me earlier," he says at the exact same time she starts, and both of them stop. She's a coward, see's her out in his change of subject and takes it, nodding for him to continue so she can revel in being cuddled up to his side for a few more minutes before he tells her it's time to call it a day, that he doesn't want to confuse Roland, and maybe their relationship has gotten out of hand. "They're moving to France. Her and Aurora," he tells her bluntly, a somber look on his face.

"They're _what_?"

"Apparently, Aurora's brother, Philip, has been diagnosed with skin cancer. Aurora wants to go back home and take care of him … and Mulan's going with her."

"Oh my god," Regina breathes, trying to process what this means. Mulan is Roland's next of kin … should anything ever happen to Robin. Mulan is the only person left to care for him. She shakes her head slightly, tries to push the hundreds of questions she has to the back of her mind and ask the most important. "Is it serious?"

She rolls her eyes at herself. Of all the things to ask, Regina. Of course it's serious. It's cancer.

"He told them he had a mark on the palm of his hand, that he thought it was just a wart infection so didn't get it checked. It's spread to his lymph nodes."

"Oh god, that's terrible. So … what does this mean? For you?"

"I have no idea," he sighs, looking lost. "She's Roland's god-mother. She was always going to be the one to take care of Roland if I couldn't, I just ... " he shifts his gaze, turns his head to look in her eyes, and she doesn't think she's ever seen him so small, like the burdens he carries are getting too much. "I just never actually thought I'd be in a position where him going to live with her would be an actual choice. But the reality is, if things don't go my way and I get sent down for this …"

"You're not sure you'd want Roland to go and live with Mulan now?"

"I love Mulan. She's one of my oldest friends … and I know she'd do her level best to take care of Roland. She loves him with all her heart, It's just … she isn't a mother. She's never had that instinct, she's never wanted children. I know she'd step up, I just don't know that she'd raise him the way I would. The way I want him to be raised. And Aurora's shifts at the hospital are so chop and change, I couldn't rely on her to be there all the time, and what if they broke up?"

Regina clears her throat, then takes a deep breath. She can't not tell Robin what she's made Roland think today, it's just not fair. And if tonight is the night they tell each other their deepest fears and secrets, then she's got no choice but to come right out and say it. "Roland said something to me earlier that … ah … I don't think you'll be too happy about …"

"What did he say?"

"He said … erm … he said he thought I was the best mom ever." Robin looks shocked as she says it, eyebrows rising in surprise, and she carries on talking before he can get a word in. "It's my fault, I know. I've been mothering him without realising and I'm sorry. I just kind of … do it without thinking. He said he was worried he'd be on his own and I told him he'd always have me, and he just … got confused."

"What did you say to him? When he said that?" Robin asks, and for a pause, she's thrown. He isn't reacting the way she thought he would … in fact, he isn't really reacting at all.

"I didn't say anything. I wanted to talk to you about it first. I didn't know what to tell him … are you … you're not angry with me?"

"Angry? Why would I be angry?" He asks, face scrunching up with confusion.

"Well, I just … we've been dating all of three weeks and I've given your son the impression I'm here to stay, I just thought … I dunno what I thought …"

She frowns, confused at the turn this conversation has taken. She thought Robin would be at the very least uncomfortable by what Roland said. At the moment, he's giving her nothing to go on whatsoever in what he's thinking. It makes her shift on the couch, lean away from his body as he sighs.

"You know, sometimes I forget we've only been together a matter of weeks. I just feel … I don't know, I can't describe it. Like you've never not been here with me. And if Roland thinks of you as a mother, then it's not your fault, it's mine. I haven't exactly stopped you from helping with him these past months, have I?" Regina shakes her head a little, feeling relief course through her veins that he's taken this so well. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to Roland tomorrow-"

"You don't-" she starts, then sighs, because she can't clearly express what she's feeling in a coherent sentence. "Tell him I'm not his mother, just … god this whole thing is just one fucked up mess. I don't want you to upset him, or confuse him, but what are we going to do when your trials over and I go back to Boston?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can see now why it's so screwed up to start sleeping with your clients. You know earlier, when Darla's mother was on her high horse, calling you a murderer, I froze. I should have jumped to your defence quicker than anyone, and I didn't. I got so … emotional … that I just kept my mouth shut. What am I gonna do if that happens in court? If Keith Knotts tries to tear me a new one and I get so overwhelmed that I might lose you that I just stand there and take it? That isn't me, Robin."

He listens to her intently, face etched with concern as she rubs her temples with her fingers, gently attempting to knead away the headache brewing once more. "Well," he says eventually, a sad crooked smile on his face. "It's a good thing you're not my only lawyer."

She huffs out a breath. "You didn't answer my question. What do we do in December, when I leave?"

"I suppose that depends on whether or not I'm found guilty. If I'm not then … I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"And if you are?" She asks quietly. She doesn't want to think it, hasn't dared to say it out loud yet, but there's something about this night that's making Regina feel like now is the time to air any unsaid thoughts and feelings. She's been absolutely adamant they'll win, but Robin isn't stupid, he must know in the back of his mind that him being found guilty is a definite possibility.

"If I am … I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this." Robin shifts, angles his body towards her, pulls her closer and lifts her legs so she's _almost _sitting on his lap. "I don't want to put you in a difficult position here, but Roland is my son, and I'm going to exhaust every option possible to make sure he'll be okay if I'm to go to prison."

"What are you talking about?"

He looks worried, like he's on the verge of clamming up and changing the subject altogether. Regina cocks her head to one side, gives his hands a squeeze of reassurance that he can say anything to her, and Robin takes a deep breath. "What if … what if _you_ were to look after Roland if I was found guilty?"

Regina's heart stops. That … that is big. Life changing pressure that makes her mind boggle and her skin feel hot. Robin must sense her panic, because he's quick to catch her face in his hands. She pulls away from his gaze and avoids his eyes. He brings them back, won't let her look anywhere but his face while he works to justify his ask.

"I know this is … big. And I would completely understand if you were to say no, but I had to ask … I'm trying to do what's best for Roland, and I honestly believe you're it. I trust you. You care for him the exact same way I would. You're not afraid to discipline him … you teach him and play with him. It's like you said … you've been acting like his mother, and I know he loves you."

She searches his eyes, full of emotion that makes the blue look bluer. He looks … desperate. Like he's been sitting on this question for a while and now he's said it, he's not sure if he wants to take it back. She can't find her words for a moment, mind reeling with what this could mean. Her life … her career … they would surely change so dramatically there'd be no going back. What would it mean for his case? Not much, she wouldn't have to actually become his legal guardian until after it happened … if it happened at all ..

She shakes the thought from her head. She can't do this … she can't be Roland's mother (no matter how much her heart may want to be, how much it already feels like it is). She can't leave Henry and her family for good to live in a country she doesn't exactly love, all by herself with no friends and no permanent job.

"Robin, I … I love Roland. You know that, but … I can't," she tells him quietly. He tries, attempts to school his expression, but he can't hide the disappointment in his eyes, and Regina feels her heart break. She doesn't want to do this … is becoming increasingly more aware that if this conversation keeps heading where she thinks it is, she's likely going to be heading back to her hotel alone and heartbroken tonight.

He nods sadly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position … and … I understand. I'm sorry i've dragged you into all this."

"You haven't dragged me into anything," she tells him, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. "I just … I can't leave Henry, or my family. It was okay coming here when I knew it wasn't permanent … but I don't want to live here forever. It's killed me being away from him these past two months. I wouldn't be strong enough to do that indefinitely."

Robin pulls back, his expression changing, softening, and for a pause, she's confused. "Regina … that's not what I meant. I'm not asking you to move here."

Oh.

"I'm asking you to take Roland back to the States with you."

_Oh_.

Her mouth drops open, her lips forming a perfect 'O' shape as she takes in what he's just said. Well that would be … more doable … Stop it, Regina. You can't change your entire life for a man you've know five minutes. Two sides of her mind go to war, the more sensible side, the side that firmly belongs to her mother is scoffing at the idea. She cannot take home a child she barely knows and raise him as her own, just because his father is in jail. But the other side … the one that's taken charge and given in to this whole relationship to begin with is whispering something different. That side is beginning to feel a little … giddy … that she could be someone's mother again, that she could go back to the way things were before Emma took Henry back. And what's more, to a little boy she adores with all her heart.

"Robin," she starts, desperately attempting to ignore this second side of her head. "You're asking me to take Roland to live in Boston. You'd never see him …"

He smiles sadly. "Even if he goes with Mulan, it looks like he'll be in France, now. And honestly, I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with him coming to visit a prison."

"You really need to think about this, about what you're asking me here … you're … you're asking me to take your _child_ away from you."

"I'm asking you to care for him. Do you think if things don't go my way, I want Roland growing up in a country that's failed his father? Do you think after this week the press coverage for this case will stay that small? If I'm found guilty? I don't want him growing up with a life like that hanging over his head … where people will judge him for having a murderer for a parent."

"You're not a murderer."

"You and I know that. Unfortunately, too many people believe what they read so easily. It would be no life for him, Regina. I just want him to be happy."

"He'd be happy seeing you, being near you!"

"Every other weekend in the visiting room of a prison? Having to be patted down on entry in case he's been given contraband to smuggle to me? I do not want that life for my son."

"Robin," she breathes softly, heart breaking and tears pricking her eyes because she can see how hard this is for him to even talk about. "If I do this … you wouldn't see him again … not until he was grown up, and what kind of a relationship do you think you'd have then? Do you expect me to wait for you? To take your son and not … move on … in the twenty years you'd be away?"

"Of course I don't expect that. I'm not saying if you raised him we'd have to stay together. I'm just trying to do what's best here," he says, choking up as his eyes get wetter. "I know what this means for him … for me, and us. I'm just … I'm trying to give Roland his best chance."

Neither say anything for a moment, both just searching the other's eyes for answers they don't have, or are too scared to voice. She wants to tell him yes, but she cannot give him the answer he wants without thinking it through, so instead she leans over, straddles his lap, runs her fingers through his hair as his head drops back against the back of the couch and touches their lips together softly.

"Will you let me think about it?" She whispers, and he nods, a sad smile on his face, an appreciation in his eyes she hasn't seen before.

"That's all I ask."

They head to bed after a few more tender kisses, both drained from the day. He surprises her tonight, when he choses to hold her, pulls her close, hugs her tightly from behind as he drifts off - she revels in his strong arms, nuzzles herself back into his chest, and lets her mind churn over everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours.

-§-

At 4 AM, she's still wide awake. Robin sleeps restlessly beside her, has been tossing and turning, wearing strain on his face when he should look peaceful. She's lying on her back, head turned at a slightly awkward angle to watch him, arm bent up while she strokes his face with the back of her hand.

She's gone back and forth, over and over what her life will be like if she agrees … if Robin ends up in prison and she raises Roland as her own. It was different with Henry … Emma was always his mother … she was always going to come back and take over from Regina at some point. With Roland it would be … forever. If she agrees to take him home, it will be because she's his mother, and there's no going back from that.

She eases out of bed slowly, skin covered in goosebumps as she reaches for Robin's hoodie and throws it over her body, the night air cold against her skin (she's wearing a tiny tank top and plaid shorts for bed, not exactly appropriate as winter approaches) and pads quietly out of their room and into Roland's.

Unlike his father, he is out for the count. Arms thrown above his head, mouth hanging open, Ruff in a very awkward position poking out under Roland's back. She chuckles softly, pulls the covers up around him and watches him sleep for a while before heading downstairs to grab her cell phone.

She settles at the dining table in the dark, eyes aching as they adjust to the bright light from the screen, and scrolls down her contacts. Emma answers on the third ring.

"Hey," she says quietly, a genuine smile on her face at the sound of her little sister's voice.

"Are you alright? It's like four in the morning, isn't it?" Emma asks curiously.

"Yeah … yeah I'm fine, I just … can't sleep."

"Regina, the last time you called me at this time was because you were having an emotional breakdown over Daniel in the bathroom of a strange man's house. What's going on?"

She chuckles at the memory, then bites her bottom lip. She wants to ask for Emma's advice, but there's no way in hell she'll tell her what's really going on, so she skirts around the subject as best she can. "Have you ever been asked to do something … and your head says no, but your heart says yes?"

Emma is silent for a beat, then sighs heavily. "This is about the guy you refuse to talk to me about, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, what's he asked you to do?"

"You don't need to worry about what he's asked, I just … if I say yes, then it will change everything … and I don't think many people will agree I did the right thing."

"So why say yes?"

"Because I _want_ to."

"It's kind of hard for me to tell you what to do when I don't know what's going on …"

"I know," Regina replies sadly, and there's another pause between them, longer than the one provided by the distance and usual beat given when she calls overseas.

"You should listen to your gut," Emma says eventually. "Even if you think people will judge … even if you think it will burn your life to the ground. You should always listen to your heart."

She breathes out a thanks, bids her sister goodnight, then heads back upstairs to gently shake Robin awake. He stirs quickly, frowns through a sleepy haze as she snuggles down next to him with a smile.

"I'll do it," she tells him, a lump forming in her throat, she feels overwhelmed as he blinks, registering what she's saying. "If you get found guilty … I'll raise Roland. I'll get the paperwork sorted for us to sign … I'll do it."

Robin's face floods with relief, and he pulls her close, chastely kissing her lips, murmuring thanks over and over again into her neck as he holds her tightly. "I know this probably isn't how you imagined ever having children," he says, voice rough with sleep.

"Actually … this is pretty much the only way I'll ever have children," she admits with a sad, watery smile as he frowns in confusion. "Adopting … or having step-children. I can't … I'm infertile."

"I had no idea … I'm sorry," he says with a wince. "When did you find out?"

"About five years ago … I had a friend that I would, erm … scratch an itch with. Jefferson. I got pregnant, but miscarried five weeks in. The doctor told me I have what's called a hostile womb. It makes getting pregnant very difficult … it makes carrying to term damn near impossible." She nestles closer towards him, they're lying side-by-side, noses nearly touching, limbs tangled beneath the sheets. "I realise this isn't exactly a conversation we should be having three weeks into a relationship, but … I figure you and I don't exactly fit into the 'normal relationship' category," she chuckles.

"I'd be inclined to agree with you there," he says softly. There's a moment then, when they're looking into each other's eyes, having laid their hearts on the line where she thinks he's about to say it … he's about to say those three words that will turn this already messy, fucked up situation into something entirely different. It scares her, those words (even if she's pretty damn sure she feels them too - she's not admitting _that _to herself. Not yet). It apparently scares Robin too, because he simply leans in and kisses her, then says, "I will never know what I did to deserve you."

It's in that moment Regina is sure … has never felt more sure of anything in her life … she is doing the right thing.


End file.
